TH 

BORD 

I 


ZANE  GREY 


l^OXL^t/P 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 


[See  page  361 
JOAN    FOUND    THAT    THE    WILD     BORDER    LAY    BEHIND    HER 


THE 
BORDER  LEGION 

BY 

ZANE  GREY 
'/ 

AUTHOR  OF 
THE  RAINBOW  TRAIL,  DESERT  GOLD,  ETC. 


ILLUSTRATED  BY 

LILUAN  E.  WILHELM 


NEW    YORK 

GROSSET   &    DUNLAP 

PUBLISHERS 


THE  BORDER  LEGION 


Copyright,  1916,  by  Harper  &  Brothers 

Printed  in  the  United  States  of  America 

Published  May,  1916 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 


THE  BORDER   LEGION 


CHAPTER  I 

JOAN  RANDLE  reined  in  her  horse  on  the 
crest  of  the  cedar  ridge,  and  with  remorse  and 
dread  beginning  to  knock  at  her  heart  she  gazed 
before  her  at  the  wild  and  looming  mountain  range, 

"Jim  wasn't  fooling  me,"  she  said.  "He  meant 
it.  He's  going  straight  for  the  border.  .  .  .  Oh,  why 
did  I  taunt  him!" 

It  was  indeed  a  wild  place,  that  southern  border 
of  Idaho,  and  that  year  was  to  see  the  ushering  in 
of  the  wildest  time  probably  ever  known  in  the 
West.  The  rush  for  gold  had  peopled  California 
with  a  horde  of  lawless  men  of  every  kind  and  class. 
And  the  vigilantes  and  then  the  rich  strikes  in 
Idaho  had  caused  a  reflux  of  that  dark  tide  of  hu 
manity.  Strange  tales  of  blood  and  gold  drifted 
into  the  camps,  and  prospectors  and  hunters  met 
with  many  unknown  men. 

Joan  had  quarreled  with  Jim  Cleve,  and  she  was 
bitterly  regretting  it.  Joan  was  twenty  years  old, 
tall,  strong,  dark.  She  had  been  born  in  Missouri, 
where  her  father  had  been  well-to-do  and  prominent, 
until,  like  many  another  man  of  his  day,  he  had 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

impeded  the  passage  of  a  bullet.  Then  Joan  had 
become  the  protegee  cf  an  uncle  who  had  responded 
to  the  call  of  gold ;  and  the  latter  part  of  her  life  had 
been  spent  in  the  wilds. 

She  had  followed  Jim's  trail  for  miles  out  toward 
the  range.  And  now  she  dismounted  to  see  if  his 
tracks  were  as  fresh  as  she  had  believed.  He  had 
left  the  little  village  camp  about  sunrise.  Some  one 
had  seen  him  riding  away  and  had  told  Joan.  Then 
he  had  tarried  on  the  way,  for  it  was  now  midday. 
Joan  pondered.  She  had  become  used  to  his  idle 
threats  and  disgusted  with  his  vacillations.  That 
had  been  the  trouble — Jim  was  amiable,  lovable,  but 
since  meeting  Joan  he  had  not  exhibited  any  strength 
of  character.  Joan  stood  beside  her  horse  and  looked 
away  toward  the  dark  mountains.  She  was  daring, 
resourceful,  used  to  horses  and  trails  and  taking 
care  of  herself;  and  she  did  not  need  any  one  to 
tell  her  that  she  had  gone  far  enough.  It  had  been 
her  hope  to  come  up  with  Jim.  Always  he  had  been 
repentant.  But  this  time  was  different.  She  re 
called  his  lean,  pale  face — so  pale  that  freckles  she 
did  not  know  he  had  showed  through — and  his  eyes, 
usually  so  soft  and  mild,  had  glinted  like  steel. 
Yes,  it  had  been  a  bitter,  reckless  face.  What  had 
she  said  to  him?  She  tried  to  recall  it. 

The  night  before  at  twilight  Joan  had  waited  for 
him.  She  had  given  him  precedence  over  the  few 
other  young  men  of  the  village,  a  fact  she  resent 
fully  believed  he  did  not  appreciate.  Jim  was  un 
satisfactory  in  every  way  except  in  the  way  he 
cared  for  her.  And  that  also — for  he  cared  too  much. 

When  Joan  thought  how  Jim  loved  her,  all  the 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

details  of  that  night  became  vivid.  She  sat  alone 
under  the  spruce- trees  near  the  cabin.  The  shad 
ows  thickened,  and  then  lightened  under  a  rising 
moon.  She  heard  the  low  hum  of  insects,  a  distant 
laugh  of  some  woman  of  the  village,  and  the  murmur 
of  the  brook.  Jim  was  later  than  usual.  Very 
likely,  as  her  uncle  had  hinted,  Jim  had  tarried  at 
the  saloon  that  had  lately  disrupted  the  peace  of  the 
village.  The  village  was  growing,  and  Joan  did  not 
like  the  change.  There  were  too  many  strangers, 
rough,  loud-voiced,  drinking  men.  Once  it  had  been 
a  pleasure  to  go  to  the  village  store;  now  it  was  an 
ordeal.  Somehow  Jim  had  seemed  to  be  unfavorably 
influenced  by  these  new  conditions.  Still,  he  had 
never  amounted  to  much.  Her  resentment,  or  some 
feeling  she  had,  was  reaching  a  climax.  She  got  up 
from  her  seat.  She  would  not  wait  any  longer  for 
him,  and  when  she  did  see  him  it  would  be  to  tell 
him  a  few  blunt  facts. 

Just  then  there  was  a  slight  rustle  behind  her. 
Before  she  could  turn  some  one  seized  her  in  powerful 
arms.  She  was  bent  backward  in  a  bearish  embrace, 
so  that  she  could  neither  struggle  nor  cry  out.  A 
dark  face  loomed  over  hers — came  closer.  Swift 
kisses  closed  her  eyes,  burned  her  cheeks,  and  ended 
passionately  on  her  lips.  They  had  some  strange 
power  over  her.  Then  she  was  released. 

Joan  staggered  back,  frightened,  outraged.  She 
was  so  dazed  she  did  not  recognize  the  man,  if  indeed 
she  knew  him.  But  a  laugh  betrayed  him.  It  was 
Jim. 

"You  thought  I  had  no  nerve,"  he  said.  "What 
do  you  think  of  that?" 

3 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

Suddenly  Joan  was  blindly  furious.  She  could 
have  killed  him.  She  had  never  given  him  any 
right,  never  made  him  any  promise,  never  let  him 
believe  she  cared.  And  he  had  dared — !  The  hot 
blood  boiled  in  her  cheeks.  She  was  furious  with 
him,  but  intolerably  so  with  herself,  because  some 
how  those  kisses  she  had  resented  gave  her  unknown 
pain  and  shame.  They  had  sent  a  shock  through  all 
her  being.  She  thought  she  hated  him. 

"You — you — "  she  broke  out.  "Jim  Cleve,  that 
ends  you  with  me!" 

"Reckon  I  never  had  a  beginning  with  you,"  he 
replied,  bitterly.  "It  was  worth  a  good  deal  .  .  . 
I'm  not  sorry.  .  .  .  By  Heaven — I've — kissed  you!" 

He  breathed  heavily.  She  could  see  how  pale 
he  had  grown  in  the  shadowy  moonlight.  She  sensed 
a  difference  in  him — a  cool,  reckless  defiance. 

"You'll  be  sorry,"  she  said.  "I'll  have  nothing  to 
do  with  you  any  more." 

"All  right.     But  I'm  not,  and  I  won't  be  sorry." 

She  wondered  whether  he  had  fallen  under  the 
influence  of  drink.  Jim  had  never  cared  for  liquor, 
which  virtue  was  about  the  only  one  he  possessed. 
Remembering  his  kisses,  she  knew  he  had  not  been 
drinking.  There  was  a  strangeness  about  him, 
though,  that  she  could  not  fathom.  Had  he  guessed 
his  kisses  would  have  that  power?  If  he  dared 
again — !  She  trembled,  and  it  was  not  only  rage. 
But  she  would  teach  him  a  lesson. 

"Joan,  I  kissed  you  because  I  can't  be  a  hang 
dog  any  longer,"  he  said.  "I  love  you  and  I'm  no 
good  without  you.  You  must  care  a  little  for  me. 

Let's  marry I'll—" 

4 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

"Never!"  she  replied,  like  flint.  "You're  no  good 
at  all." 

"But  I  am,"  he  protested,  with  passion.  "I  used 
to  do  things.  But  since — since  I've  met  you  I've 
lost  my  nerve.  I'm  crazy  for  you.  You  let  the 
other  men  run  after  you.  Some  of  them  aren't  fit 
to — to —  Oh,  I'm  sick  all  the  time!  Now  it's  long 
ing  and  then  it's  jealousy.  Give  me  a  chance,  Joan." 

"Why?"  she  queried,  coldly.  "Why  should  I? 
You're  shiftless.  You  won't  work.  When  you  do 
find  a  little  gold  you  squander  it.  You  have  nothing 
but  a  gun.  You  can't  do  anything  but  shoot." 

"Maybe  that  '11  come  in  handy,"  he  said,  lightly. 

"Jim  Cleve,  you  haven't  it  in  you  even  to  be  bad" 
she  went  on,  stingingly. 

At  that  he  made  a  violent  gesture.  Then  he 
loomed  over  her.  "Joan  Randle,  do  you  mean 
that?"  he  asked. 

"I  surely  do,"  she  responded.  At  last  she  had 
struck  fire  from  him.  The  fact  was  interesting.  It 
lessened  her  anger. 

"Then  I'm  so  low,  so  worthless,  so  spineless  that 
I  can't  even  be  bad?" 

"Yes,  you  are." 

"That's  what  you  think  of  me — after  I've  ruined 
myself  for  love  of  you?" 

She  laughed  tauntingly.  How  strange  and  hot  a 
glee  she  felt  in  hurting  him ! 

"By  God,  I'll  show  you!"  he  cried,  hoarsely. 

"What  will  you  do,  Jim?"  she  asked,  mockingly. 

"I'll  shake  this  camp.     I'll  rustle  for  the  border. 

I'll  get  in  with  Kells  and  Gulden You'll  hear  of 

me,  Joan  Randle!" 

5 


THE    BORDER   LEGION 

These  were  names  of  strange,  unknown,  and  wild 
men  of  a  growing  and  terrible  legion  on  the  border. 
Out  there,  somewhere,  lived  desperados,  robbers, 
road-agents,  murderers.  More  and  more  rumor  had 
brought  tidings  of  them  into  the  once  quiet  village. 
Joan  felt  a  slight  cold  sinking  sensation  at  her  heart. 
But  this  was  only  a  magnificent  threat  of  Jim's.  He 
could  not  do  such  a  thing.  She  would  never  let 
him,  even  if  he  could.  But  after  the  incomprehen 
sible  manner  of  woman,  she  did  not  tell  him  that. 

"Bah!  You  haven't  the  nerve!"  she  retorted, 
with  another  mocking  laugh. 

Haggard  and  fierce,  he  glared  down  at  her  a  mo 
ment,  and  then  without  another  word  he  strode 
away.  Joan  was  amazed,  and  a  little  sick,  a  little 
uncertain,  still  she  did  not  call  him  back. 

And  now  at  noon  of  the  next  day  she  had  tracked 
him  miles  toward  the  mountains.  It  was  a  broad 
trail  he  had  taken,  one  used  by  prospectors  and  hunt 
ers.  There  was  no  danger  of  her  getting  lost.  What 
risk  she  ran  was  of  meeting  some  of  these  border 
ruffians  that  had  of  late  been  frequent  visitors  in  the 
village.  Presently  she  mounted  again  and  rode  down 
the  ridge.  She  would  go  a  mile  or  so  farther. 

Behind  every  rock  and  cedar  she  expected  to  find 
Jim.  Surely  he  had  only  threatened  her.  But  she 
had  taunted  him  in  a  way  no  man  could  stand,  and 
if  there  were  any  strength  of  character  in  him  he 
would  show  it  now.  Her  remorse  and  dread  in 
creased.  After  all,  he  was  only  a  boy — only  a 
couple  of  years  older  than  she  was.  Under  stress  of 
feeling  he  might  go  to  any  extreme.  Had  she  mis- 

6 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

judged  him?  If  she  had  not,  she  had  at  least  been 
brutal.  But  he  had  dared  to  kiss  her!  Every  time 
she  thought  of  that  a  tingling,  a  confusion,  a  hot 
shame  went  over  her.  And  at  length  Joan  mar 
veled  to  find  that  out  of  the  affront  to  her  pride,  and 
the  quarrel,  and  the  fact  of  his  going  and  of  her  fol 
lowing,  and  especially  out  of  this  increasing  remorse 
ful  dread,  there  had  flourished  up  a  strange  and  re 
luctant  respect  for  Jim  Cleve. 

She  climbed  another  ridge  and  halted  again. 
This  time  she  saw  a  horse  and  rider  down  in  the 
green.  Her  heart  leaped.  It  must  be  Jim  return 
ing.  After  all,  then,  he  had  only  threatened.  She 
felt  relieved  and  glad,  yet  vaguely  sorry.  She  had 
been  right  in  her  conviction. 

She  had  not  watched  long,  however,  before  she 
saw  that  this  was  not  the  horse  Jim  usually  rode. 
She  took  the  precaution  then  to  hide  behind  some 
bushes,  and  watched  from  there.  When  the  horse 
man  approached  closer  she  discerned  that  instead  of 
Jim  it  was  Harvey  Roberts,  a  man  of  the  village  and 
a  good  friend  of  her  uncle's.  Therefore  she  rode 
out  of  her  covert  and  hailed  him.  It  was  a  significant 
thing  that  at  sound  of  her  voice  Roberts  started 
suddenly  and  reached  for  his  gun.  Then  he  recog 
nized  her. 

"Hello,  Joan!"  he  exclaimed,  turning  her  way. 
"Reckon  you  give  me  a  scare.  You  ain't  alone  way 
out  here?" 

"Yes.  I  was  trailing  Jim  when  I  saw  you,"  she 
replied.  "Thought  you  were  Jim." 

"Trailin'  Jim!    What's  up?" 

"We  quarreled.  He  swore  he  was  going  to  the 

7 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

devil.  Over  on  the  border!  I  was  mad  and  told 
him  to  go.  .  .  .  But  I'm  sorry  now — and  have  been 
trying  to  catch  up  with  him." 

"Ahuh!  ...  So  that's  Jim's  trail.  I  sure  was 
wonderin'.  Joan,  it  turns  off  a  few  miles  back  an' 
takes  the  trail  for  the  border.  I  know.  I've  been 
in  there." 

Joan  glanced  up  sharply  at  Roberts.  His  scarred 
and  grizzled  face  seemed  grave  and  he  avoided  her 
gaze. 

"You  don't  believe — Jim  '11  really  go?"  she  asked, 
hurriedly. 

"Reckon  I  do,  Joan,"  he  replied,  after  a  pause. 
"Jim  is  just  fool  enough.  He  had  been  gettin'  reck- 
lessler  lately.  An',  Joan,  the  times  ain't  provocatin' 
a  young  feller  to  be  good.  Jim  had  a  bad  fight  the 
other  night.  He  about  half  killed  young  Bradley. 
But  I  reckon  you  know." 

"I've  heard  nothing,"  she  replied.  "Tell  me. 
Why  did  they  fight?" 

"Report  was  that  Bradley  talked  oncomplemen- 
tary  about  you." 

Joan  experienced  a  sweet,  warm  rush  of  blood — 
another  new  and  strange  emotion.  She  did  not  like 
Bradley.  He  had  been  persistent  and  offensive. 

"Why  didn't  Jim  tell  me?"  she  queried,  half  to 
herself. 

"Reckon  he  wasn't  proud  of  the  shape  he  left 
Bradley  in,"  replied  Roberts,  with  a  laugh.  "Come 
on,  Joan,  an*  make  back  tracks  for  home." 

Joan  was  silent  a  moment  while  she  looked  over 
the  undulating  green  ridges  toward  the  great  gray 
and  black  walls.  Something  stirred  deep  within 

8 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

her.  Her  father  in  his  youth  had  been  an  adven 
turer.  She  felt  the  thrill  and  the  call  of  her  blood. 
And  she  had  been  unjust  to  a  man  who  loved  her. 

"I'm  going  after  him,"  she  said. 

Roberts  did  not  show  any  surprise.  He  looked 
at  the  position  of  the  sun.  "Reckon  we  might 
overtake  him  an*  get  home  before  sundown,"  he 
said,  laconically,  as  he  turned  his  horse.  "We'll 
make  a  short  cut  across  here  a  few  miles,  an*  strike 
his  trail.  Can't  miss  it." 

Then  he  set  off  at  a  brisk  trot  and  Joan  fell  in 
behind.  She  had  a  busy  mind,  and  it  was  a  sign  of 
her  preoccupation  that  she  forgot  to  thank  Roberts. 
Presently  they  struck  into  a  valley,  a  narrow  de 
pression  between  the  foot-hills  and  the  ridges,  and 
here  they  made  faster  time.  The  valley  appeared 
miles  long.  Toward  the  middle  of  it  Roberts  called 
out  to  Joan,  and,  looking  down,  she  saw  they  had 
come  up  with  Jim's  trail.  Here  Roberts  put  his 
mount  to  a  canter,  and  at  that  gait  they  trailed 
Jim  out  of  the  valley  and  up  a  slope  which  appeared 
to  be  a  pass  into  the  mountains.  Time  flew  by  for 
Joan,  because  she  was  always  peering  ahead  in  the 
hope  and  expectation  of  seeing  Jim  off  in  the  dis 
tance.  But  she  had  no  glimpse  of  him.  Now  and 
then  Roberts  would  glance  around  at  the  westering 
sun.  The  afternoon  had  far  advanced.  Joan  be 
gan  to  worry  about  home.  She  had  been  so  sure 
of  coming  up  with  Jim  and  returning  early  in  the 
day  that  she  had  left  no  word  as  to  her  intentions. 
Probably  by  this  time  somebody  was  out  looking 
for  her. 

The  country  grew  rougher,  rock-strewn,  covered 

9 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

with  cedars  and  patches  of  pine.  Deer  crashed 
out  of  the  thickets  and  grouse  whirred  up  from 
under  the  horses.  The  warmth  of  the  summer 
afternoon  chilled. 

"Reckon  we'd  better  give  it  up,"  called  Roberts 
back  to  her. 

"No — no.     Go  on,"  replied  Joan. 

And  they  urged  their  horses  faster.  Finally  they 
reached  the  summit  of  the  slope.  From  that  height 
they  saw  down  into  a  round,  shallow  valley,  which 
led  on,  like  all  the  deceptive  reaches,  to  the  ranges. 
There  was  water  down  there.  It  glinted  like  red 
ribbon  in  the  sunlight.  Not  a  living  thing  was  in 
sight.  Joan  grew  more  discouraged.  It  seemed 
there  was  scarcely  any  hope  of  overtaking  Jim  that 
day.  His  trail  led  off  round  to  the  left  and  grew 
difficult  to  follow.  Finally,  to  make  matters 
worse,  Roberts's  horse  slipped  in  a  rocky  wash  and 
lamed  himself.  He  did  not  want  to  go  on,  and, 
when  urged,  could  hardly  walk. 

Roberts  got  off  to  examine  the  injury.  "Wai,  he 
didn't  break  his  leg,"  he  said,  which  was  his  man 
ner  of  telling  how  bad  the  injury  was.  "Joan,  I 
reckon  there'll  be  some  worryin'  back  home  to 
night.  For  your  horse  can't  carry  double  an'  I 
can't  walk." 

Joan  dismounted.  There  was  water  in  the  wash, 
and  she  helped  Roberts  bathe  the  sprained  and 
swelling  joint.  In  the  interest  and  sympathy  of  the 
moment  she  forgot  her  own  trouble. 

"Reckon  we'll  have  to  make  camp  right  here," 
said  Roberts,  looking  around.  "Lucky  I've  a  pack 
on  that  saddle.  I  can  make  you  comfortable.  But 

10 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

we'd  better  be  careful  about  a  fire  an'  not  have  one 
after  dark." 

11  There's  no  help  for  it,"  replied  Joan.  "To 
morrow  we'll  go  on  after  Jim.  He  can't  be  far 
ahead  now."  She  was  glad  that  it  was  impossible 
to  return  home  until  the  next  day. 

Roberts  took  the  pack  off  his  horse,  and  then  the 
saddle.  And  he  was  bending  over  in  the  act  of 
loosening  the  cinches  of  Joan's  saddle  when  sud 
denly  he  straightened  up  with  a  jerk. 

"What's  that?" 

Joan  heard  soft,  dull  thumps  on  the  turf  and 
then  the  sharp  crack  of  an  unshod  hoof  upon  stone. 
Wheeling,  she  saw  three  horsemen.  They  were  just 
across  the  wash  and  coming  toward  her.  One  rider 
pointed  in  her  direction.  Silhouetted  against  the  red 
of  the  sunset  they  made  dark  and  sinister  figures. 
Joan  glanced  apprehensively  at  Roberts.  He  was 
staring  with  a  look  of  recognition  in  his  eyes.  Under 
his  breath  he  muttered  a  curse.  And  although  Joan 
was  not  certain,  she  believed  that  his  face  had 
shaded  gray. 

The  three  horsemen  halted  on  the  rim  of  the  wash. 
One  of  them  was  leading  a  mule  that  carried  a  pack 
and  a  deer  carcass.  Joan  had  seen  many  riders  ap 
parently  just  like  these,  but  none  had  ever  so  subtly 
and  powerfully  affected  her. 

"Howdy,"  greeted  one  of  the  men. 

And  then  Joan  was  positive  that  the  face  of 
Roberts  had  turned  ashen  gray. 

2 


CHAPTER   II 

"  T  T  ain't  you— Kelts?" 

1  Roberts' s  query  was  a  confirmation  of  his  own 
recognition.  And  the  other's  laugh  was  an  answer, 
if  one  were  needed. 

The  three  horsemen  crossed  the  wash  and  again 
halted,  leisurely,  as  if  time  was  no  object.  They 
were  all  young,  under  thirty.  The  two  who  had  not 
spoken  were  rough-garbed,  coarse-featured,  and  re 
sembled  in  general  a  dozen  men  Joan  saw  every  day. 
Kells  was  of  a  different  stamp.  Until  he  looked  at 
her  he  reminded  her  of  some  one  she  had  known 
back  in  Missouri;  after  he  looked  at  her  she  was 
aware,  in  a  curious,  sickening  way,  that  no  such  per 
son  as  he  had  ever  before  seen  her.  He  was  pale, 
gray-eyed,  intelligent,  amiable.  He  appeared  to  be 
a  man  who  had  been  a  gentleman.  But  there  was 
something  strange,  intangible,  immense  about  him. 
Was  that  the  effect  of  his  presence  or  of  his  name? 
Kells!  It  was  only  a  word  to  Joan.  But  it  carried 
a  nameless  and  terrible  suggestion.  During  the  last 
year  many  dark  tales  had  gone  from  camp  to  camp 
in  Idaho — some  too  strange,  too  horrible  for  cre 
dence — and  with  every  rumor  the  fame  of  Kells  had 
grown,  and  also  a  fearful  certainty  of  the  rapid 
growth  of  a  legion  of  evil  men  out  on  the  border. 

12 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

But  no  one  in  the  village  or  from  any  of  the  camps 
ever  admitted  having  seen  this  Kells.  Had  fear 
kept  them  silent?  Joan  was  amazed  that  Roberts 
evidently  knew  this  man. 

Kells  dismounted  and  offered  his  hand.  Roberts 
took  it  and  shook  it  constrainedly. 

61  Where  did  we  meet  last?"  asked  Kells. 

"Reckon  it  was  out  of  Fresno,"  replied  Roberts, 
and  it  was  evident  that  he  tried  to  hide  the  effect  of 
a  memory. 

Then  Kells  touched  his  hat  to  Joan,  giving  her 
the  fleetest  kind  of  a  glance.  "Rather  off  the  track, 
aren't  you?"  he  asked  Roberts. 

"Reckon  we  are,"  replied  Roberts,  and  he  began 
to  lose  some  of  his  restraint.  His  voice  sounded 
clearer  and  did  not  halt.  "Been  trailin'  Miss 
Randle's  favorite  hoss.  He's  lost.  An'  we  got 
farther  'n  we  had  any  idee.  Then  my  hoss  went 
lame.  'Fraid  we  can't  start  home  to-night." 

"Where  are  you  from?" 

"Hoadley.  Bill  Hoadley's  town,  back  thirty  miles 
or  so." 

"Well,  Roberts,  if  you've  no  objection  we'll  camp 
here  with  you,"  continued  Kells.  "We've  got  some 
fresh  meat." 

With  that  he  addressed  a  word  to  his  comrades, 
and  they  repaired  to  a  cedar-tree  near  by,  where 
they  began  to  unsaddle  and  unpack. 

Then  Roberts,  bending  nearer  Joan,  as  if  intent 
on  his  own  pack,  began  to  whisper,  hoarsely :  * '  That's 
Jack  Kells,  the  California  road-agent.  He's  a  gun- 
fighter — a  hell-bent  rattlesnake.  When  I  saw  him 
last  he  had  a  rope  round  his  neck  an'  was  bein'  led 

13 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

away  to  be  hanged.  I  heerd  afterward  he  was 
rescued  by  pals.  Joan,  if  the  idee  comes  into  his 
head  he'll  kill  me.  I  don't  know  what  to  do.  For 
God's  sake  think  of  somethin' !  .  .  .  Use  your 
woman's  wits!  .  .  .  We  couldn't  be  in  a  wuss  fix!" 

Joan  felt  rather  unsteady  on  her  feet,  so  that  it 
was  a  relief  to  sit  down.  She  was  cold  and  sick  in 
wardly,  almost  stunned.  Some  great  peril  menaced 
her.  Men  like  Roberts  did  not  talk  that  way  with 
out  cause.  She  was  brave;  she  was  not  unused  to 
danger.  But  this  must  be  a  different  kind,  com 
pared  with  which  all  she  had  experienced  was  but 
insignificant.  She  could  not  grasp  Roberts's  inti 
mation.  Why  should  he  be  killed?  They  had  no 
gold,  no  valuables.  Even  their  horses  were  noth 
ing  to  inspire  robbery.  It  must  be  that  there  was 
peril  to  Roberts  and  to  her  because  she  was  a  girl, 
caught  out  in  the  wilds,  easy  prey  for  beasts  of  evil 
men.  She  had  heard  of  such  things  happening. 
Still,  she  could  not  believe  it  possible  for  her.  Rob 
erts  could  protect  her.  Then  this  amiable,  well- 
spoken  Kells,  he  was  no  Western  rough — he  spoke 
like  an  educated  man;  surely  he  would  not  harm 
her.  So  her  mind  revolved  round  fears,  conjectures, 
possibilities ;  she  could  not  find  her  wits.  She  could 
not  think  how  to  meet  the  situation,  even  had  she 
divined  what  the  situation  was  to  be. 

While  she  sat  there  in  the  shade  of  a  cedar  the 
men  busied  themselves  with  camp  duties.  None  of 
them  appeared  to  pay  any  attention  to  Joan.  They 
talked  while  they  worked,  as  any  other  group  of 
campers  might  have  talked,  and  jested  and  laughed. 
Kells  made  a  fire,  and  carried  water,  then  broke  cedar 

14 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

boughs  for  later  camp-fire  use;  one  of  the  strangers 
whom  they  called  Bill  hobbled  the  horses ;  the  other 
unrolled  the  pack,  spread  a  tarpaulin,  and  emptied 
the  greasy  sacks;  Roberts  made  biscuit  dough  for 
the  oven. 

The  sun  sank  red  and  a  ruddy  twilight  fell.  It 
soon  passed.  Darkness  had  about  set  in  when 
Roberts  came  over  to  Joan,  carrying  bread,  coffee, 
and  venison. 

" Here's  your  supper,  Joan,"  he  called,  quite  loud 
and  cheerily,  and  then  he  whispered:  "Mebbe  it 
ain't  so  bad.  They-all  seem  friendly.  But  I'm 
scared,  Joan.  If  you  jest  wasn't  so  dam'  handsome, 
or  if  only  he  hadn't  seen  you!" 

"Can't  we  slip  off  in  the  dark?"  she  whispered  in 
return. 

"We  might  try.  But  it  'd  be  no  use  if  they  mean 
bad.  I  can't  make  up  my  mind  yet  what's  comin: 
off.  It's  all  right  for  you  to  pretend  you're  bash 
ful.  But  don't  lose  your  nerve." 

Then  he  returned  to  the  camp-fire.  Joan  was 
hungry.  She  ate  and  drank  what  had  been  given 
her,  and  that  helped  her  to  realize  reality.  And 
although  dread  abided  with  her,  she  grew  curious. 
Almost  she  imagined  she  was  fascinated  by  her 
predicament.  She  had  always  been  an  emotional 
girl  of  strong  will  and  self-restraint.  She  had  al 
ways  longed  for  she  knew  not  what  —  perhaps 
freedom.  Certain  places  had  haunted  her.  She 
had  felt  that  something  should  have  happened  to 
her  there.  Yet  nothing  ever  had  happened.  Cer 
tain  books  had  obsessed  her,  even  when  a  child,  and 
often  to  her  mother's  dismay;  for  these  books  had 

15 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

b*en  of  wild  places  and  life  on  the  sea,  adventure, 
and  bloodshed.  It  had  always  been  said  of  her  that 
she  should  have  been  a  boy. 

Night  settled  down  black.  A  pale,  narrow  cloud, 
marked  by  a  train  of  stars,  extended  across  the 
dense  blue  sky.  The  wind  moaned  in  the  cedars 
and  roared  in  the  replenished  camp-fire.  Sparks 
flew  away  into  the  shadows.  And  on  the  puffs  of 
smoke  that  blew  toward  her  came  the  sweet,  pun 
gent  odor  of  burning  cedar.  Coyotes  barked  off 
under  the  brush,  and  from  away  on  the  ridge  drifted 
the  dismal  defiance  of  a  wolf. 

Camp-life  was  no  new  thing  to  Joan.  She  had 
crossed  the  plains  in  a  wagon-train,  that  more  than 
once  had  known  the  long-drawn  yell  of  hostile  In 
dians.  She  had  prospected  and  hunted  in  the 
mountains  with  her  uncle,  weeks  at  a  time.  But 
never  before  this  night  had  the  wildness,  the  loneli 
ness,  been  so  vivid  to  her. 

Roberts  was  on  his  knees,  scouring  his  oven  with 
wet  sand.  His  big,  shaggy  head  nodded  in  the  fire 
light.  He  seemed  pondering  and  thick  and  slow. 
There  was  a  burden  upon  him.  The  man  Bill  and 
his  companion  lay  back  against  stones  and  con 
versed  low.  Kells  stood  up  in  the  light  of  the  blaze. 
He  had  a  pipe  at  which  he  took  long  pulls  and  then 
sent  up  clouds  of  smoke.  There  was  nothing  im 
posing  in  his  build  or  striking  in  his  face,  at  that 
distance;  but  it  took  no  second  look  to  see  here 
was  a  man  remarkably  out  of  the  ordinary.  Some 
kind  of  power  and  intensity  emanated  from  him. 
From  time  to  time  he  appeared  to  glance  in  Joan's 
direction;  still,  she  could  not  be  sure,  for  his  eyes 

16 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

were  but  shadows.  He  had  cast  aside  his  coat. 
He  wore  a  vest  open  all  the  way,  and  a  checked  soft 
shirt,  with  a  black  tie  hanging  untidily.  A  broad 
belt  swung  below  his  hip  and  in  the  holster  was  a 
heavy  gun.  That  was  a  strange  place  to  carry  a 
gun,  Joan  thought.  It  looked  awkward  to  her. 
When  he  walked  it  might  swing  round  and  bump 
against  his  leg.  And  he  certainly  would  have  to 
put  it  some  other  place  when  he  rode. 

"Say,  have  you  got  a  blanket  for  that  girl?"  asked 
Kells,  removing  his  pipe  from  his  lips  to  address 
Roberts. 

' '  I  got  saddle-blankets, ' '  responded  Roberts.  ' '  You 
see,  we  didn't  expect  to  be  caught  out." 

"I'll  let  you  have  one,"  said  Kells,  walking  away 
from  the  fire.  "It  will  be  cold."  He  returned  with 
a  blanket,  which  he  threw  to  Roberts. 

"Much  obliged,"  muttered  Roberts. 

"I'll  bunk  by  the  fire,"  went  on  the  other,  and 
with  that  he  sat  down  and  appeared  to  become  ab 
sorbed  in  thought. 

Roberts  brought  the  borrowed  blanket  and  several 
saddle-blankets  over  to  where  Joan  was,  and  laying 
them  down  he  began  to  kick  and  scrape  stones  and 
brush  aside. 

"Pretty  rocky  place,  this  here  is,"  he  said. 
"Reckon  you'll  sleep  some,  though." 

Then  he  began  arranging  the  blankets  into  a  bed. 
Presently  Joan  felt  a  tug  at  her  riding-skirt.  She 
looked  down. 

"I'll  be  right  by  you,"  he  whispered,  with  his  big 
hand  to  his  mouth,  "an*  I  ain't  a-goin'  to  sleep 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

Whereupon  he  returned  to  the  camp-fire.  Pres 
ently  Joan,  not  because  she  was  tired  or  sleepy,  but 
because  she  wanted  to  act  naturally,  lay  down  on 
the  bed  and  pulled  a  blanket  up  over  her.  There 
was  no  more  talking  among  the  men.  Once  she 
heard  the  jingle  of  spurs  and  the  rustle  of  cedar 
brush.  By  and  by  Roberts  came  back  to  her,  drag 
ging  his  saddle,  and  lay  down  near  her.  Joan 
raised  up  a  little  to  see  Kells  motionless  and  ab 
sorbed  by  the  fire.  He  had  a  strained  and  tense 
position.  She  sank  back  softly  and  looked  up  at 
the  cold  bright  stars.  What  was  going  to  happen 
to  her?  Something  terrible!  The  very  night  shad 
ows,  the  silence,  the  presence  of  strange  men,  all 
told  her.  And  a  shudder  that  was  a  thrill  ran  over 
and  over  her. 

She  would  lie  awake.  It  would  be  impossible  to 
sleep.  And  suddenly  into  her  full  mind  flashed  an 
idea  to  slip  away  in  the  darkness,  find  her  horse,  and 
so  escape  from  any  possible  menace.  This  plan  oc 
cupied  her  thoughts  for  a  long  while.  If  she  had 
not  been  used  to  Western  ways  she  would  have  tried 
just  that  thing.  But  she  rejected  it.  She  was  not 
sure  that  she  could  slip  away,  or  find  her  horse, 
or  elude  pursuit,  and  certainly  not  sure  of  her  way 
home.  It  would  be  best  to  stay  with  Roberts. 

When  that  was  settled  her  mind  ceased  to  race. 
She  grew  languid  and  sleepy.  The  warmth  of  the 
blankets  stole  over  her.  She  had  no  idea  of  sleeping, 
yet  she  found  sleep  more  and  more  difficult  to  resist. 
Time  that  must  have  been  hours  passed.  The  fire 
died  down  and  then  brightened;  the  shadows  dark 
ened  and  then  lightened.  Some  one  now  and  then 

18 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

got  up  to  throw  on  wood.  The  thump  of  hobbled 
hoofs  sounded  out  in  the  darkness.  The  wind  was 
still  and  the  coyotes  were  gone.  She  could  no  longer 
open  her  eyes.  They  seemed  glued  shut.  And  then 
gradually  all  sense  of  the  night  and  the  wild,  of  the 
drowsy  warmth,  faded. 

When  she  awoke  the  air  was  nipping  cold.  Her 
eyes  snapped  open  clear  and  bright.  The  tips  of 
the  cedars  were  ruddy  in  the  sunrise.  A  camp-fire 
crackled.  Blue  smoke  curled  upward.  Joan  sat  up 
with  a  rush  of  memory.  Roberts  and  Kells  were 
bustling  round  the  fire.  The  man  Bill  was  carrying 
water.  The  other  fellow  had  brought  in  the  horses 
and  was  taking  off  the  hobbles.  No  one,  apparently, 
paid  any  attention  to  Joan.  She  got  up  and  smoothed 
out  her  tangled  hair,  which  she  always  wore  in  a 
braid  down  her  back  when  she  rode.  She  had  slept, 
then,  and  in  her  boots !  That  was  the  first  time  she 
had  ever  done  that.  When  she  went  down  to  the 
brook  to  bathe  her  face  and  wash  her  hands,  the  men 
still,  apparently,  took  no  notice  of  her.  She  began 
to  hope  that  Roberts  had  exaggerated  their  danger. 
Her  horse  was  rather  skittish  and  did  not  care  for 
strange  hands.  He  broke  away  from  the  bunch. 
Joan  went  after  him,  even  lost  sight  of  camp.  Pres 
ently,  after  she  caught  him,  she  led  him  back  to 
camp  and  tied  him  up.  And  then  she  was  so  far 
emboldened  as  to  approach  the  fire  and  to  greet  the 
men. 

"Good  morning,"  she  said,  brightly. 

Kells  had  his  back  turned  at  the  moment.  He  did 
not  move  or  speak  or  give  any  sign  he  had  heard. 
The  man  Bill  stared  boldly  at  her,  but  without  a 

19 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

word.  Roberts  returned  her  greeting,  and  as  she 
glanced  quickly  at  him,  drawn  by  his  voice,  he  turned 
away.  But  she  had  seen  that  his  face  was  dark, 
haggard,  worn. 

Joan's  cheer  and  hope  sustained  a  sudden  and  vio 
lent  check.  There  was  something  wrong  in  this 
group,  and  she  could  not  guess  what  it  was.  She 
seemed  to  have  a  queer,  dragging  weight  at  her  limbs. 
She  was  glad  to  move  over  to  a  stone  and  sink  down 
upon  it.  Roberts  brought  her  breakfast,  but  he 
did  not  speak  or  look  at  her.  His  hands  shook.  And 
this  frightened  Joan.  What  was  going  to  happen? 
Roberts  went  back  to  the  camp-fire.  Joan  had  to 
force  herself  to  eat.  There  was  one  thing  of  which 
she  was  sure — that  she  would  need  all  the  strength 
and  fortitude  she  could  summon. 

Joan  became  aware,  presently,  that  Kells  was  con 
versing  with  Roberts,  but  too  low  for  her  to  hear 
what  was  said.  She  saw  Roberts  make  a  gesture 
of  fierce  protest.  About  the  other  man  there  was 
an  air  cool,  persuading,  dominant.  He  ceased  speak 
ing,  as  if  the  incident  were  closed.  Roberts  hurried 
and  blundered  through  his  task  with  his  pack  and 
went  for  his  horse.  The  animal  limped  slightly,  but 
evidently  was  not  in  bad  shape.  Roberts  saddled 
him,  tied  on  the  pack.  Then  he  saddled  Joan's 
horse.  That  done,  he  squared  around  with  the  front 
of  a  man  who  had  to  face  something  he  dreaded. 

"Come  on,  Joan.  We're  ready,"  he  called.  His 
voice  was  loud,  but  not  natural. 

Joan  started  to  cross  to  him  when  Kells  strode 
between  them.  She  might  not  have  been  there,  for 
all  the  sign  this  ominous  man  gave  of  her  presence. 

20 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

He  confronted  Roberts  in  the  middle  of  the  camp- 
circle,  and  halted,  perhaps  a  rod  distant. 

1 ' Roberts,  get  on  your  horse  and  clear  out,"  he  said. 

Roberts  dropped  his  halter  and  straightened  up. 
It  was  a  bolder  action  than  any  he  had  heretofore 
given.  Perhaps  the  mask  was  off  now;  he  was 
wholly  sure  of  what  he  had  only  feared;  subterfuge 
and  blindness  were  in  vain;  and  now  he  could  be  a 
man.  Some  change  worked  in  his  face — a  blanch 
ing,  a  setting. 

"No,  I  won't  go  without  the  girl,"  he  said. 

"But  you  can't  take  her!" 

Joan  vibrated  to  a  sudden  start.  So  this  was  what 
was  going  to  happen.  Her  heart  almost  stood  still. 
Breathless  and  quivering,  she  watched  these  two  men, 
about  whom  now  all  was  strangely  magnified. 

"Reckon  I'll  go  along  with  you,  then,"  replied 
Roberts. 

"Your  company's  not  wanted." 

"Wai,  I'll  go  anyway." 

This  was  only  play  at  words,  Joan  thought.  She 
divined  in  Roberts  a  cold  and  grim  acceptance  of 
something  he  had  expected.  And  the  voice  of  Kells 
—what  did  that  convey?  Still  the  man  seemed 
slow,  easy,  kind,  amiable. 

"Haven't  you  got  any  sense,  Roberts?"  he  asked. 

Roberts  made  no  reply  to  that. 

"Go  on  home.  Say  nothing  or  anything — what 
ever  you  like,"  continued  Kells.  "You  did  me  a 
favor  once  over  in  California.  I  like  to  remember 
favors.  Use  your  head  now.  Hit  the  trail." 

"Not  without  her.  I'll  fight  first,"  declared  Rob 
erts,  and  his  hands  began  to  twitch  and  jerk. 

21 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

Joan  did  not  miss  the  wonderful  intentness  of 
the  pale-gray  eyes  that  watched  Roberts — his  face, 
his  glance,  his  hands. 

"What  good  will  it  do  to  fight?"  asked  Kells.  He 
laughed  coolly.  "That  won't  help  her.  .  .  .  You 
ought  to  know  what  you'll  get." 

"Kells — I'll  die  before  I  leave  that  girl  in  your 
clutches,"  flashed  Roberts.  "An'  I  ain't  a-goin'  to 
stand  here  an'  argue  with  you.  Let  her  come  — 
or—" 

"You  don't  strike  me  as  a  fool,"  interrupted  Kells. 
His  voice  was  suave,  smooth,  persuasive,  cool. 
What  strength — what  certainty  appeared  behind  it! 
"It's  not  my  habit  to  argue  with  fools.  Take  the 
chance  I  offer  you.  Hit  the  trail.  Life  is  precious, 
man!  .  .  .  You've  no  chance  here.  And  what's  one 
girl  more  or  less  to  you?" 

"Kells,  I  may  be  a  fool,  but  I'm  a  man,"  passion 
ately  rejoined  Roberts.  "Why,  you're  somethin' 
inhuman !  I  knew  that  out  in  the  gold-fields.  But 
to  think  you  can  stand  there — an'  talk  sweet  an' 
pleasant — with  no  idee  of  manhood!  .  .  .  Let  her 
come  now — or — or  I'm  a-goin'  for  my  gun!" 

"Roberts,  haven't  you  a  wife — children?" 

"Yes,  I  have,"  shouted  Roberts,  huskily.  "An' 
that  wife  would  disown  me  if  I  left  Joan  Randle  to 
you.  An'  I've  got  a  grown  girl.  Mebbe  some  day 
she  might  need  a  man  to  stand  between  her  an'  such 
as  you,  Jack  Kells!" 

All  Roberts's  pathos  and  passion  had  no  effect, 
unless  to  bring  out  by  contrast  the  singular  and  ruth 
less  nature  of  Jack  Kells. 

"Will  you  hit  the  trail?" 

22 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

'       No !"  thundered  Roberts. 

Until  then  Joan  Randle  had  been  fascinated,  held 
by  the  swift  interchange  between  her  friend  and 
enemy.  But  now  she  had  a  convulsion  of  fear. 
She  had  seen  men  fight,  but  never  to  the  death. 
Roberts  crouched  like  a  wolf  at  bay.  There  was  a 
madness  upon  him.  He  shook  like  a  rippling  leaf. 
Suddenly  his  shoulder  lurched — his  arm  swung. 

Joan  wheeled  away  in  horror,  shutting  her  eyes, 
covering  her  ears,  running  blindly.  Then  upon  her 
muffled  hearing  burst  the  boom  of  a  gun. 


CHAPTER  III 

JOAN  ran  on,  stumbling  over  rocks  and  brush, 
with  a  darkness  before  her  eyes,  and  terror  in 
her  soul.  She  was  out  in  the  cedars  when  some  one 
grasped  her  from  behind.  She  felt  the  hands  as  the 
coils  of  a  snake.  Then  she  was  ready  to  faint,  but 
she  must  not  faint.  She  struggled  away,  stood 
free.  It  was  the  man  Bill  who  had  caught  her.  He 
said  something  that  was  unintelligible.  She  reached 
for  the  snag  of  a  dead  cedar  and,  leaning  there, 
fought  her  weakness,  that  cold  black  horror  which 
seemed  a  physical  thing  in  her  mind,  her  blood,  her 
muscles. 

When  she  recovered  enough  for  the  thickness  to 
leave  her  sight  she  saw  Kells  coming,  leading  her 
horse  and  his  own.  At  sight  of  him  a  strange,  swift 
heat  shot  through  her.  Then  she  was  confounded 
with  the  thought  of  Roberts. 

"Ro— Roberts?"  she  faltered. 

Kells  gave  her  a  piercing  glance.  "Miss  Randle, 
I  had  to  take  the  fight  out  of  your  friend,"  he  said. 

"You— you—    Is  he— dead?" 

"I  just  crippled  his  gun-arm.  If  I  hadn't  he 
would  have  hurt  somebody.  He'll  ride  back  to 
Hoadley  and  tell  your  folks  about  it.  So  they'll 
know  you're  safe." 

24 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

"Safe!"  she  whispered. 

"That's  what  I  said,  Miss  Randle.  If  you're 
going  to  ride  out  into  the  border — if  it's  possible 
to  be  safe  out  there  you'll  be  so  with  me." 

"But  I  want  to  go  home.     Oh,  please  let  me  go!" 

"I  couldn't  think  of  it." 

"Then — what  will  you — do  with  me?" 

Again  that  gray  glance  pierced  her.  His  eyes 
were  clear,  flawless,  like  crystal,  without  coldness, 
warmth,  expression.  "I'll  get  a  barrel  of  gold  out 
of  you." 

"How?"  she  asked,  wonderingly. 

"I'll  hold  you  for  ransom.  Sooner  or  later  those 
prospectors  over  there  are  going  to  strike  gold. 
Strike  it  rich!  I  know  that.  I've  got  to  make  a 
living  some  way." 

Kells  was  tightening  the  cinch  on  her  saddle 
while  he  spoke.  His  voice,  his  manner,  the  amiable 
smile  on  his  intelligent  face,  they  all  appeared  to 
come  from  sincerity.  But  for  those  strange  eyes 
Joan  would  have  wholly  believed  him.  As  it  was, 
a  half  doubt  troubled  her.  She  remembered  the 
character  Roberts  had  given  this  man.  Still,  she 
was  recovering  her  nerve.  It  had  been  the  certainty 
of  disaster  to  Roberts  that  had  made  her  weaken. 
As  he  was  only  slightly  wounded  and  free  to  ride 
home  safely,  she  had  not  the  horror  of  his  death  upon 
her.  Indeed,  she  was  now  so  immensely  uplifted 
that  she  faced  the  situation  unflinchingly. 

"Bill,"  called  Kells  to  the  man  standing  there 
with  a  grin  on  his  coarse  red  face,  "you  go  back  and 
help  Halloway  pack.  Then  take  my  trail." 

Bill  nodded,  and  was  walking  away  when  Kells 

25 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

called  after  him:  "And  say,  Bill,  don't  say  anything 
to  Roberts.  He's  easily  riled." 

"Haw!  Haw!  Haw!"  laughed  Bill. 

His  harsh  laughter  somehow  rang  jarringly  in 
Joan's  ears.  But  she  was  used  to  violent  men  who 
expressed  mirth  over  mirthless  jokes. 

"Get  up,  Miss  Randle,"  said  Kells  as  he  mounted. 
"We've  a  long  ride.  You'll  need  all  your  strength. 
So  I  advise  you  to  come  quietly  with  me  and  not 
try  to  get  away.  It  won't  be  any  use  trying." 

Joan  climbed  into  her  saddle  and  rode  after  him. 
Once  she  looked  back  in  hope  of  seeing  Roberts,  of 
waving  a  hand  to  him.  She  saw  his  horse  standing 
saddled,  and  she  saw  Bill  struggling  under  a  pack, 
but  there  was  no  sign  of  Roberts.  Then  more  cedars 
intervened  and  the  camp  site  was  lost  to  view.  When 
she  glanced  ahead  her  first  thought  was  to  take  in 
the  points  of  Kells's  horse.  She  had  been  used  to 
horses  all  her  life.  Kells  rode  a  big  rangy  bay — a 
horse  that  appeared  to  snort  speed  and  endurance. 
Her  pony  could  never  run  away  from  that  big  brute. 
Still  Joan  had  the  temper  to  make  an  attempt  to 
escape,  if  a  favorable  way  presented. 

The  morning  was  rosy,  clear,  cool;  there  was  a 
sweet,  dry  tang  in  the  air ;  white-tailed  deer  bounded 
out  of  the  open  spaces;  and  the  gray-domed,  glisten 
ing  mountains,  with  their  bold,  black-fringed  slopes, 
overshadowed  the  close  foot-hills. 

Joan  was  a  victim  to  swift  vagaries  of  thought  and 
conflicting  emotions.  She  was  riding  away  with  a 
freebooter,  a  road-agent,  to  be  held  for  ransom.  The 
fact  was  scarcely  credible.  She  could  not  shake  the 
dread  of  nameless  peril.  She  tried  not  to  recall 

26 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

Roberts's  words,  yet  they  haunted  her.  If  she  had 
not  been  so  handsome,  he  had  said!  Joan  knew 
she  possessed  good  looks,  but  they  had  never  caused 
her  any  particular  concern.  That  Kells  had  let 
that  influence  him — as  Roberts  had  imagined — was 
more  than  absurd.  Kells  had  scarcely  looked  at  her. 
It  was  gold  such  men  wanted.  She  wondered  what 
her  ransom  would  be,  where  her  uncle  would  get  it, 
and  if  there  really  was  a  likelihood  of  that  rich 
strike.  Then  she  remembered  her  mother,  who  had 
died  when  she  was  a  little  girl,  and  a  strange,  sweet 
sadness  abided  with  her.  It  passed.  She  saw  her 
uncle — that  great,  robust,  hearty,  splendid  old  man, 
with  his  laugh  and  his  kindness,  and  his  love  for  her, 
and  his  everlasting  unquenchable  belief  that  soon  he 
would  make  a  rich  gold-strike.  What  a  roar  and  a 
stampede  he  would  raise  at  her  loss!  The  village 
camp  might  be  divided  on  that  score,  she  thought, 
because  the  few  young  women  in  that  little  settle 
ment  hated  her,  and  the  young  men  would  have  more 
peace  without  her.  Suddenly  her  thought  shifted  to 
Jim  Cleve,  the  cause  of  her  present  misfortune.  She 
had  forgotten  Jim.  In  the  interval  somehow  he  had 
grown.  Sweet  to  remember  how  he  had  fought  for 
her  and  kept  it  secret !  After  all,  she  had  misjudged 
him.  She  had  hated  him  because  she  liked  him. 
Maybe  she  did  more !  That  gave  her  a  shock.  She 
recalled  his  kisses  and  then  flamed  all  over.  If  she 
did  not  hate  him  she  ought  to.  He  had  been  so  use 
less;  he  ran  after  her  so ;  he  was  the  laughing-stock 
of  the  village;  his  actions  made  her  other  admirers 
and  friends  believe  she  cared  for  him,  was  playing 
fast-and-loose  with  him.  Still,  there  was  a  diifer- 
3  27 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

ence  now.  He  had  terribly  transgressed.  He  had 
frightened  her  with  threats  of  dire  ruin  to  himself. 
And  because  of  that  she  had  trailed  him,  to  fall  her 
self  upon  a  hazardous  experience.  Where  was  Jim 
Cleve  now?  Like  a  flash  then  occurred  to  her  the 
singular  possibility.  Jim  had  ridden  for  the  border 
with  the  avowed  and  desperate  intention  of  finding 
Kells  and  Gulden  and  the  bad  men  of  that  track 
less  region.  He  would  do  what  he  had  sworn  he 
would.  And  here  she  was,  the  cause  of  it  all,  a 
captive  of  this  notorious  Kells!  She  was  being  led 
into  that  wild  border  country.  Somewhere  out 
there  Kells  and  Jim  Cleve  would  meet.  Jim  would 
find  her  in  Kells's  hands.  Then  there  would  be 
hell,  Joan  thought.  The  possibility,  the  certainty, 
seemed  to  strike  deep  into  her,  reviving  that  dread 
and  terror.  Yet  she  thrilled  again ;  a  ripple  that  was 
not  all  cold  coursed  through  her.  Something  had  a 
birth  in  her  then,  and  the  part  of  it  she  understood 
was  that  she  welcomed  the  adventure  with  a  throb 
bing  heart,  yet  looked  with  awe  and  shame  and  dis 
trust  at  this  new,  strange  side  of  her  nature. 

And  while  her  mind  was  thus  thronged  the  morn 
ing  hours  passed  swiftly,  the  miles  of  foot-hills  were 
climbed  and  descended.  A  green  gap  of  canon, 
wild  and  yellow- walled,  yawned  before  her,  opening 
into  the  mountain. 

Kells  halted  on  the  grassy  bank  of  a  shallow  brook. 
"Get  down.  Well  noon  here  and  rest  the  horses," 
he  said  to  Joan.  "I  can't  say  that  you're  anything 
but  game.  We've  done  perhaps  twenty-five  miles 
this  morning." 

The  mouth  of  this  canon  was  a  wild,  green- 

28 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

flowered,  beautiful  place.  There  were  willows  and 
alders  and  aspens  along  the  brook.  The  green  bench 
was  like  a  grassy  meadow.  Joan  caught  a  glimpse 
of  a  brown  object,  a  deer  or  bear,  stealing  away 
through  spruce- trees  on  the  slope.  She  dismounted, 
aware  now  that  her  legs  ached  and  it  was  comfort 
able  to  stretch  them.  Looking  backward  across  the 
valley  toward  the  last  foot-hill,  she  saw  the  other 
men,  with  horses  and  packs,  coming.  She  had  a  habit 
of  close  observation,  and  she  thought  that  either 
the  men  with  the  packs  had  now  one  more  horse 
than  she  remembered,  or  else  she  had  not  seen  the 
extra  one.  Her  attention  shifted  then.  She  watched 
Kells  unsaddle  the  horses.  He  was  wiry,  muscular, 
quick  with  his  hands.  The  big,  blue-cylindered  gun 
swung  in  front  of  him.  That  gun  had  a  queer  kind 
of  attraction  for  her.  The  curved  black  butt  made 
her  think  of  a  sharp  grip  of  hand  upon  it.  Kells 
did  not  hobble  the  horses.  He  slapped  his  bay  on 
the  haunch  and  drove  him  down  toward  the  brook. 
Joan's  pony  followed.  They  drank,  cracked  the 
stones,  climbed  the  other  bank,  and  began  to  roll 
in  the  grass.  Then  the  other  men  with  the  packs 
trotted  up.  Joan  was  glad.  She  had  not  thought 
of  it  before,  but  now  she  felt  she  would  rather  not 
be  alone  with  Kells.  She  remarked  then  that  there 
was  no  extra  horse  in  the  bunch.  It  seemed  strange, 
her  thinking  that,  and  she  imagined  she  was  not 
clear-headed. 

"Throw  the  packs,  Bill,"  said  Kells. 

Another  fire  was  kindled  and  preparations  made 
toward  a  noonday  meal.  Bill  and  Halloway  appeared 
loquacious,  and  inclined  to  steal  glances  at  Joan 

29 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

when  Kells  could  not  notice.  Hallo  way  whistled  a 
Dixie  tune.  Then  Bill  took  advantage  of  the  ab 
sence  of  Kells,  who  went  down  to  the  brook,  and  he 
began  to  leer  at  Joan  and  make  bold  eyes  at  her. 
Joan  appeared  not  to  notice  him,  and  thereafter 
averted  her  gaze.  The  men  chuckled. 

''She's  the  proud  hussy!  But  she  ain't  foolin' 
me.  I've  knowed  a  heap  of  wimmen."  Where 
upon  Halloway  guffawed,  and  between  them,  in 
lower  tones,  they  exchanged  mysterious  remarks. 
Kells  returned  with  a  bucket  of  water. 

"What's  got  into  you  men?"  he  queried. 

Both  of  them  looked  around,  blusteringly  innocent. 

"Reckon  it's  the  same  that's  ailin'  you,"  replied 
Bill.  He  showed  that  among  wild,  unhampered  men 
how  little  could  inflame  and  change. 

"Boss,  it's  the  onaccustomed  company,"  added 
Halloway,  with  a  conciliatory  smile.  "Bill  sort  of 
warms  up.  He  jest  can't  help  it.  An'  seem'  what 
a  thunderin'  crab  he  always  is,  why  I'm  glad  an' 
welcome." 

Kells  vouchsafed  no  reply  to  this  and,  turning 
away,  continued  at  his  tasks.  Joan  had  a  close  look 
at  his  eyes  and  again  she  was  startled.  They  were 
not  like  eyes,  but  just  gray  spaces,  opaque  openings, 
with  nothing  visible  behind,  yet  with  something 
terrible  there. 

The  preparations  for  the  meal  went  on,  somewhat 
constrainedly  on  the  part  of  Bill  and  Halloway,  and 
presently  were  ended.  Then  the  men  attended  to 
it  with  appetites  born  of  the  open  and  of  action. 
Joan  sat  apart  from  them  on  the  bank  of  the  brook, 
and  after  she  had  appeased  her  own  hunger  she 

30 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

rested,  leaning  back  in  the  shade  of  an  alder-bush. 
A  sailing  shadow  crossed  near  her,  and,  looking  up, 
she  saw  an  eagle  flying  above  the  ramparts  of  the 
canon.  Then  she  had  a  drowsy  spell,  but  she  suc 
cumbed  to  it  only  to  the  extent  of  closing  her 
eyes.  Time  dragged  on.  She  would  rather  have 
been  in  the  saddle.  These  men  were  leisurely,  and 
Kells  was  provokingly  slow.  They  had  nothing  to 
do  with  time  but  waste  it.  She  tried  to  combat  the 
desire  for  hurry,  for  action ;  she  could  not  gain  any 
thing  by  worry.  Nevertheless,  resignation  would 
not  come  to  her  and  her  hope  began  to  flag.  Some 
thing  portended  evil — something  hung  in  the  bal 
ance. 

The  snort  and  tramp  of  horses  roused  her,  and 
upon  sitting  up  she  saw  the  men  about  to  pack  and 
saddle  again.  Kells  had  spoken  to  her  only  twice 
so  far  that  day.  She  was  grateful  for  his  silence, 
but  could  not  understand  it.  He  seemed  to  have  a 
preoccupied  air  that  somehow  did  not  fit  the  amiable- 
ness  of  his  face.  He  looked  gentle,  good-natured; 
he  was  soft-spoken ;  he  gave  an  impression  of  kind 
ness.  But  Joan  began  to  realize  that  he  was  not 
what  he  seemed.  He  had  something  on  his  mind. 
It  was  not  conscience,  nor  a  burden:  it  might  be  a 
projection,  a  plan,  an  absorbing  scheme,  a  something 
that  gained  food  with  thought.  Joan  wondered 
doubtfully  if  it  were  the  ransom  of  gold  he  expected 
to  get. 

Presently,  when  all  was  about  in  readiness  for  a 
fresh  start,  she  rose  to  her  feet.     Kells 's  bay  was 
not  tractable  at  the  moment.     Bill  held  out  Joan's 
bridle  to  her  and  their  hands  touched.     The  con- 
Si 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

tact  was  an  accident,  but  it  resulted  in  Bill's  grasp 
ing  back  at  her  hand.  She  jerked  it  away,  scarcely 
comprehending.  Then  all  under  the  brown  of  his 
face  she  saw  creep  a  dark,  ruddy  tide.  He  reached 
for  her  then — put  his  hand  on  her  breast.  It  was  an 
instinctive  animal  action.  He  meant  nothing.  She 
divined  that  he  could  not  help  it.  She  had  lived  with 
rough  men  long  enough  to  know  he  had  no  motive — 
no  thought  at  all.  But  at  the  profanation  of  such 
a  touch  she  shrank  back,  uttering  a  cry. 

At  her  elbow  she  heard  a  quick  step  and  a  sharp- 
drawn  breath  or  hiss. 

"Aw,  Jack!"  cried  Bill. 

Then  Kells,  in  lithe  and  savage  swiftness,  came 
between  them.  He  swung  his  gun,  hitting  Bill  full 
in  the  face.  The  man  fell,  limp  and  heavy,  and  he 
lay  there,  with  a  bloody  gash  across  his  brow. 
Kells  stood  over  him  a  moment,  slowly  lowering  the 
gun.  Joan  feared  he  meant  to  shoot. 

"Oh,  don't— don't!"  she  cried.  "He— he  didn  t 
hurt  me." 

Kells  pushed  her  back.  When  he  touched  her  she 
seemed  to  feel  the  shock  of  an  electric  current.  His 
face  had  not  changed,  but  his  eyes  were  terrible. 
On  the  background  of  gray  were  strange,  leaping  red 
flecks. 

"Take  your  horse,"  he  ordered.  "No.  Walk 
across  the  brook.  There's  a  trail.  Go  up  the  canon. 
I'll  come  presently.  Don't  run  and  don't  hide.  It  '11 
be  the  worse  for  you  if  you  do.  Hurry!" 

Joan  obeyed.  She  flashed  past  the  open- jawed 
Halloway  and,  running  down  to  the  brook,  stepped 
across  from  stone  to  stone.  She  found  the  trail  and 

32 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

hurriedly  followed  it.  She  did  not  look  back.  It 
never  occurred  to  her  to  hide,  to  try  to  get  away. 
She  only  obeyed,  conscious  of  some  force  that  domi 
nated  her.  Once  she  heard  loud  voices,  then  the 
shrill  neigh  of  a  horse.  The  trail  swung  under  the 
left  wall  of  the  canon  and  ran  along  the  noisy 
brook.  She  thought  she  heard  shots  and  was  startled, 
but  she  could  not  be  sure.  She  stopped  to  listen. 
Only  the  babble  of  swift  water  and  the  sough  of 
wind  in  the  spruces  greeted  her  ears.  She  went  on, 
beginning  to  collect  her  thoughts,  to  conjecture  on 
the  significance  of  Kells's  behavior. 

But  had  that  been  the  spring  of  his  motive?  She 
doubted  it — she  doubted  all  about  him,  save  that 
subtle  essence  of  violence,  of  ruthless  force  and  in 
tensity,  of  terrible  capacity,  which  hung  round  him. 

A  halloo  caused  her  to  stop  and  turn.  Two  pack- 
horses  were  jogging  up  the  trail.  Kells  was  driving 
them  and  leading  her  pony.  Nothing  could  be  seen 
of  the  other  men.  Kells  rapidly  overhauled  her, 
and  she  had  to  get  out  of  the  trail  to  let  the  pack- 
animals  pass.  He  threw  her  bridle  to  her. 

''Get  up,"  he  said. 

She  complied.  And  then  she  bravely  faced  him. 
"Where  are — the  other  men?" 

"We  parted  company,"  he  replied,  curtly. 

"Why?"  she  persisted. 

"Well,  if  you're  anxious  to  know,  it  was  because 
you  were  winning  their — regard — too  much  to  suit 
me." 

"Winning  their  regard!"  Joan  exclaimed,  blankly. 

Here  those  gray,  piercing  eyes  went  through  her, 
then  swiftly  shifted.  She  was  quick  to  divine  from 

33 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

that  the  inference  in  his  words — he  suspected  her  of 
flirting  with  those  ruffians,  perhaps  to  escape  him 
through  them.  That  had  only  been  his  suspicion — 
groundless  after  his  swift  glance  at  her.  Perhaps 
unconsciousness  of  his  meaning,  a  simulated  inno 
cence  and  ignorance  might  serve  her  with  this  strange 
man.  She  resolved  to  try  it,  to  use  all  her  woman's 
intuition  and  wit  and  cunning.  Here  was  an  edu 
cated  man  who  was  a  criminal — an  outcast.  Deep 
within  him  might  be  memories  of  a  different  life. 
They  might  be  stirred.  Joan  decided  in  that  swift 
instant  that,  if  she  could  understand  him,  learn  his 
real  intentions  toward  her,  she  could  cope  with 
him. 

"Bill  and  his  pard  were  thinking  too  much  of — of 
the  ransom  I'm  after,"  went  on  Kells,  with  a  short 
laugh.  "Come  on  now.  Ride  close  to  me." 

Joan  turned  into  the  trail  with  his  laugh  ringing  in 
her  ears.  Did  she  only  imagine  a  mockery  in  it? 
Was  there  any  reason  to  believe  a  word  this  man 
said?  She  appeared  as  helpless  to  see  through  him 
as  she  was  in  her  predicament. 

They  had  entered  a  canon,  such  as  was  typical 
of  that  mountain  range,  and  the  winding  trail  which 
ran  beneath  the  yellow  walls  was  one  unused  to 
travel.  Joan  could  not  make  out  any  old  tracks,  ex 
cept  those  of  deer  and  cougar.  The  crashing  of  wild 
animals  into  the  chaparral,  and  the  scarcely  fright 
ened  flight  of  rabbits  and  grouse  attested  to  the  wild- 
ness  of  the  place.  They  passed  an  old  tumble 
down  log  cabin,  once  used,  no  doubt,  by  prospectors 
and  hunters.  Here  the  trail  ended.  Yet  Kells  kept 
on  up  the  canon.  And  for  all  Joan  could  tell  the 

34 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

walls  grew  only  the  higher  and  the  timber  heavier 
and  the  space  wider. 

At  a  turn,  when  the  second  pack-horse,  that  ap 
peared  unused  to  his  task,  came  fully  into  Joan's 
sight,  she  was  struck  with  his  resemblance  to  some 
horse  with  which  she  was  familiar.  It  was  scarcely  an 
impression  which  she  might  have  received  from  seeing 
Kells's  horse  or  Bill's  or  any  one's  a  few  times.  There 
fore  she  watched  this  animal,  studying  his  gait  and  be 
havior.  It  did  not  take  long  for  her  to  discover  that 
he  was  not  a  pack-horse.  He  resented  that  burden. 
He  did  not  know  how  to  swing  it.  This  made  her 
deeply  thoughtful  and  she  watched  closer  than  ever. 
All  at  once  there  dawned  on  her  the  fact  that  the 
resemblance  here  was  to  Roberts's  horse.  She 
caught  her  breath  and  felt  again  that  cold  gnawing 
of  fear  within  her.  Then  she  closed  her  eyes  the 
better  to  remember  significant  points  about  Roberts's 
sorrel — a  white  left  front  foot,  an  old  diamond 
brand,  a  ragged  forelock,  and  an  unusual  marking, 
a  light  bar  across  his  face.  When  Joan  had  recalled 
these,  she  felt  so  certain  that  she  would  find  them 
on  this  pack-horse  that  she  was  afraid  to  open  her 
eyes.  She  forced  herself  to  look,  and  it  seemed  that 
in  one  glance  she  saw  three  of  them.  Still  she  clung 
to  hope.  Then  the  horse,  picking  his  way,  partially 
turning  toward  her,  disclosed  the  bar  across  his  face. 

Joan  recognized  it.  Roberts  was  not  on  his  way 
home.  Kells  had  lied.  Kells  had  killed  him.  How 
plain  and  fearful  the  proof!  It  verified  Roberts's 
gloomy  prophecy.  Joan  suddenly  grew  sick  and 
dizzy.  She  reeled  in  her  saddle.  It  was  only  by 
dint  of  the  last  effort  of  strength  and  self-control 

35 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

that  she  kept  her  seat.  She  fought  the  horror  as  if 
it  were  a  beast.  Hanging  over  the  pommel,  with 
shut  eyes,  letting  her  pony  find  the  way,  she  sus 
tained  this  shock  of  discovery  and  did  not  let  it  ut 
terly  overwhelm  her.  And  as  she  conquered  the 
sickening  weakness  her  mind  quickened  to  the 
changed  aspect  of  her  situation.  She  understood 
Kells  and  the  appalling  nature  of  her  peril.  She 
did  not  know  how  she  understood  him  now,  but 
doubt  had  utterly  fled.  All  was  clear,  real,  grim, 
present.  Like  a  child  she  had  been  deceived,  for 
no  reason  she  could  see.  That  talk  of  ransom  was 
false.  Likewise  Kells's  assertion  that  he  had  parted 
company  with  Halloway  and  Bill  because  he  would 
not  share  the  ransom — that,  too,  was  false.  The 
idea  of  a  ransom,  in  this  light,  was  now  ridiculous. 
From  that  first  moment  Kells  had  wanted  her;  he 
had  tried  to  persuade  Roberts  to  leave  her,  and,  fail 
ing,  had  killed  him;  he  had  rid  himself  of  the  other 
two  men — and  now  Joan  knew  she  had  heard  shots 
back  there.  Kells's  intention  loomed  out  of  all  his 
dark  brooding,  and  it  stood  clear  now  to  her, 
dastardly,  worse  than  captivity,  or  torture,  or 
death — the  worst  fate  that  could  befall  a  woman. 

The  reality  of  it  now  was  so  astounding.  True — • 
as  true  as  those  stories  she  had  deemed  impossible! 
Because  she  and  her  people  and  friends  had  ap 
peared  secure  in  their  mountain  camp  and  happy  in 
their  work  and  trustful  of  good,  they  had  scarcely 
credited  the  rumors  of  just  such  things  as  had  hap 
pened  to  her.  The  stage  held  up  by  road-agents, 
a  lonely  prospector  murdered  and  robbed,  fights  in 
the  saloons  and  on  the  trails,  and  useless  pursuit 

36 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

of  hard-riding  men  out  there  on  the  border,  illusive 
as  Arabs,  swift  as  Apaches — these  facts  had  been  ter 
rible  enough,  without  the  dread  of  worse.  The  truth 
of  her  capture,  the  meaning  of  it,  were  raw,  shocking 
spurs  to  Joan  Randle's  intelligence  and  courage. 
Since  she  still  lived,  which  was  strange  indeed  in  the 
illuminating  light  of  her  later  insight  into  Kells 
and  his  kind,  she  had  to  meet  him  with  all  that  was 
catlike  and  subtle  and  devilish  at  the  command  of 
a  woman.  She  had  to  win  him,  foil  him,  kill  him — 
or  go  to  her  death.  She  was  no  girl  to  be  dragged 
into  the  mountain  fastness  by  a  desperado  and  made 
a  plaything.  Her  horror  and  terror  had  worked  its 
way  deep  into  the  depths  of  her  and  uncovered  pow 
ers  never  suspected,  never  before  required  in  her 
scheme  of  life.  She  had  no  longer  any  fear.  She 
matched  herself  against  this  man.  She  anticipated 
him.  And  she  felt  like  a  woman  who  had  lately 
been  a  thoughtless  girl,  who,  in  turn,  had  dreamed 
of  vague  old  happenings  of  a  past  before  she  was 
born,  of  impossible  adventures  in  her  own  future. 
Hate  and  wrath  and  outraged  womanhood  were  not 
wholly  the  secret  of  Joan  Randle's  flaming  spirit. 


CHAPTER  IV 

JOAN  RANDLE  rode  on  and  on,  through  that 
canon,  out  at  its  head  and  over  a  pass  into  another 
canon,  and  never  did  she  let  it  be  possible  for  Kells 
to  see  her  eyes  until  she  knew  beyond  peradventure 
of  a  doubt  that  they  hid  the  strength  and  spirit  and 
secret  of  her  soul. 

The  time  came  when  traveling  was  so  steep  and 
rough  that  she  must  think  first  of  her  horse  and  her 
own  safety.  Kells  led  up  over  a  rock-jumbled  spur 
of  range,  where  she  had  sometimes  to  follow  on  foot. 
It  seemed  miles  across  that  wilderness  of  stone. 
Foxes  and  wolves  trotted  over  open  places,  watching 
stealthily.  All  around  dark  mountain  peaks  stood 
up.  The  afternoon  was  far  advanced  when  Kells 
started  to  descend  again,  and  he  rode  a  zigzag  course 
on  weathered  slopes  and  over  brushy  benches,  down 
and  down  into  the  canons  again. 

A  lonely  peak  was  visible,  sunset-flushed  against 
the  blue,  from  the  point  where  Kells  finally  halted. 
That  ended  the  longest  ride  Joan  had  ever  made  in 
one  day.  For  miles  and  miles  they  had  climbed  and 
descended  and  wound  into  the  mountains.  Joan 
had  scarcely  any  idea  of  direction.  She  was  com 
pletely  turned  around  and  lost.  This  spot  was  the 
wildest  and  most  beautiful  she  had  ever  seen.  A 

38 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

canon  headed  here.  It  was  narrow,  low-walled,  and 
luxuriant  with  grass  and  wild  roses  and  willow  and 
spruce  and  balsam.  There  were  deer  standing  with 
long  ears  erect,  motionless,  curious,  tame  as  cattle. 
There  were  moving  streaks  through  the  long  grass, 
showing  the  course  of  smaller  animals  slipping  away. 

Then  under  a  giant  balsam,  that  reached  aloft  to 
the  rim- wall,  Joan  saw  a  little  log  cabin,  open  in 
front.  It  had  not  been  built  very  long;  some  of 
the  log  ends  still  showed  yellow.  It  did  not  resemble 
the  hunters'  and  prospectors'  cabins  she  had  seen 
on  her  trips  with  her  uncle. 

In  a  sweeping  glance  Joan  had  taken  in  these  fea 
tures.  Kells  had  dismounted  and  approached  her. 
She  looked  frankly,  but  not  directly,  at  him. 

"I'm  tired — almost  too  tired  to  get  off,"  she 
said. 

"Fifty  miles  of  rock  and  brush,  up  and  down! 
Without  a  kick!"  he  exclaimed,  admiringly.  "You've 
got  sand,  girl!" 

"Where  are  we?" 

"This  is  Lost  Canon.  Only  a  few  men  know  of 
it.  And  they  are — attached  to  me.  I  intend  to 
keep  you  here." 

"How  long?"     She  felt  the  intensity  of  his  gaze. 

"Why— as  long  as—"  he  replied,  slowly,  "till  I 
get  my  ransom." 

"What  amount  will  you  ask?" 

"You're  worth  a  hundred  thousand  in  gold  right 
now.  .  .  .  Maybe  later  I  might  let  you  go  for  less." 

Joan's  keen- wrought  perception  registered  his  co 
vert,  scarcely  veiled  implication.  He  was  studying 
her. 

39 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

"Oh,  poor  uncle!  He'll  never,  never  get  so 
much." 

"Sure  he  will,"  replied  Kells,  bluntly. 

Then  he  helped  her  out  of  the  saddle.  She  was 
stiff  and  awkward,  and  she  let  herself  slide.  Kells 
handled  her  gently  and  like  a  gentleman,  and  for 
Joan  the  first  agonizing  moment  of  her  ordeal  was 
past.  Her  intuition  had  guided  her  correctly.  Kells 
might  have  been  and  probably  was  the  most  de 
praved  of  outcast  men;  but  the  presence  of  a  girl 
like  her,  however  it  affected  him,  must  also  have 
brought  up  associations  of  a  time  when  by  family 
and  breeding  and  habit  he  had  been  infinitely  dif 
ferent.  His  action  here,  just  like  the  ruffian  Bill's, 
was  instinctive,  beyond  his  control.  Just  this  slight 
thing,  this  frail  link  that  joined  Kells  to  his  past 
and  better  life,  immeasurably  inspirited  Joan  and 
outlined  the  difficult  game  she  had  to  play. 

"You're  a  very  gallant  robber,"  she  said. 

He  appeared  not  to  hear  that  or  to  note  it;  he 
was  eying  her  up  and  down;  and  he  moved  closer, 
perhaps  to  estimate  her  height  compared  to  his  own. 

"I  didn't  know  you  were  so  tall.  You're  above 
my  shoulder." 

"Yes,  I'm  very  lanky." 

"Lanky!  Why  you're  not  that.  You've  a  splen 
did  figure — tall,  supple,  strong;  you're  like  a  Nez 
Perce  girl  I  knew  once.  .  .  .  You're  a  beautiful  thing. 
Didn't  you  know  that?" 

"Not  particularly.  My  friends  don't  dare  flatter 
me.  I  suppose  I'll  have  to  stand  it  from  you.  But 
I  didn't  expect  compliments  from  Jack  Kells  of  the 
Border  Legion." 

40 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

* '  Border  Legion  ?     Where'd  you  hear  that  name  ?" 

"I  didn't  hear  it.  I  made  it  up — thought  of  it 
myself." 

"Well,  you've  invented  something  I'll  use.  .  .  . 
And  what's  your  name — your  first  name?  I  heard 
Roberts  use  it?" 

Joan  felt  a  cold  contraction  of  all  her  internal  be 
ing,  but  outwardly  she  never  so  much  as  flicked  an 
eyelash.  "My  name's  Joan." 

"Joan!"  He  placed  heavy,  compelling  hands  on 
her  shoulders  and  turned  her  squarely  toward  him. 

Again  she  felt  his  gaze,  strangely,  like  the  reflec 
tion  of  sunlight  from  ice.  She  had  to  look  at  him. 
This  was  her  supreme  test.  For  hours  she  had  pre 
pared  for  it,  steeled  herself,  wrought  upon  all  that 
was  sensitive  in  her;  and  now  she  prayed,  and 
swiftly  looked  up  into  his  eyes.  They  were  windows 
of  a  gray  hell.  And  she  gazed  into  that  naked 
abyss,  at  that  dark,  uncovered  soul,  with  only  the 
timid  anxiety  and  fear  and  the  unconsciousness  of 
an  innocent,  ignorant  girl. 

"Joan!    You  know  why  I  brought  you  here?" 

"Yes,  of  course;  you  told  me,"  she  replied, 
steadily.  "You  want  to  ransom  me  for  gold.  .  .  . 
And  I'm  afraid  you'll  have  to  take  me  home  without 
getting  any." 

"You  know  what  I  mean  to  do  to  you,"  he  went 
on,  thickly. 

"Do  to  me?"  she  echoed,  and  she  never  quivered 
a  muscle.  "You — you  didn't  say.  ...  I  haven't 
thought.  .  .  .  But  you  won't  hurt  me,  will  you? 
It's  not  my  fault  if  there's  no  gold  to  ransom 
me." 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

He  shook  her.  His  face  changed,  grew  darker. 
"You  know  what  I  mean." 

"I  don't."  With  some  show  of  spirit  she  essayed 
to  slip  out  of  his  grasp.  He  held  her  the  tighter. 

"How  old  are  you?" 

It  was  only  in  her  height  and  development  that 
Joan  looked  anywhere  near  her  age.  Often  she  had 
been  taken  for  a  very  young  girl. 

"I'm  seventeen,"  she  replied.  This  was  not  the 
truth.  It  was  a  lie  that  did  not  falter  on  lips  which 
had  scorned  falsehood. 

"Seventeen!"  he  ejaculated  in  amaze.  "Honest 
ly,  now?" 

She  lifted  her  chin  scornfully  and  remained  silent. 

"Well,  I  thought  you  were  a  woman.  I  took 
you  to  be  twenty-five — at  least  twenty- two.  Seven 
teen,  with  that  shape!  You're  only  a  girl — a  kid. 
You  don't  know  anything." 

Then  he  released  her,  almost  with  violence,  as  if 
angered  at  her  or  himself,  and  he  turned  away  to 
the  horses.  Joan  walked  toward  the  little  cabin. 
The  strain  of  that  encounter  left  her  weak,  but  once 
from  under  his  eyes,  certain  that  she  had  carried 
her  point,  she  quickly  regained  her  poise.  There 
might  be,  probably  would  be,  infinitely  more  trying 
ordeals  for  her  to  meet  than  this  one  had  been ;  she 
realized,  however,  that  never  again  would  she  be 
so  near  betrayal  of  terror  and  knowledge  and  self. 

The  scene  of  her  isolation  had  a  curious  fascina 
tion  for  her.  Something — and  she  shuddered — was 
to  happen  to  her  here  in  this  lonely,  silent  gorge. 
There  were  some  flat  stones  made  into  a  rude  seat 
under  the  balsam- tree,  and  a  swift,  yard-wide 

42 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

stream  of  clear  water  ran  by.  Observing  something 
white  against  the  tree,  Joan  went  closer.  A  card,  the 
ace  of  hearts,  had  been  pinned  to  the  bark  by  a 
small  cluster  of  bullet-holes,  every  one  of  which 
touched  the  red  heart,  and  one  of  them  had  oblit 
erated  it.  Below  the  circle  of  bullet-holes,  scrawled 
in  rude  letters  with  a  lead-pencil,  was  the  name 
' ' Gulden."  How  little,  a  few  nights  back,  when  Jim 
Cleve  had  menaced  Joan  with  the  names  of  Kells  and 
Gulden,  had  she  imagined  they  were  actual  men  she 
was  to  meet  and  fear !  And  here  she  was  the  prisoner 
of  one  of  them.  She  would  ask  Kells  who  and  what 
this  Gulden  was.  The  log  cabin  was  merely  a  shed, 
without  fireplace  or  window,  and  the  floor  was  a 
covering  of  balsam  boughs,  long  dried  out  and  with 
ered.  A  dim  trail  led  away  from  it  down  the  canon. 
If  Joan  was  any  judge  of  trails,  this  one  had  not  seen 
the  imprint  of  a  horse  track  for  many  months. 
Kells  had  indeed  brought  her  to  a  hiding-place,  one 
of  those,  perhaps,  that  camp  gossip  said  was  inac 
cessible  to  any  save  a  border  hawk.  Joan  knew  that 
only  an  Indian  could  follow  the  tortuous  and  rocky 
trail  by  which  Kells  had  brought  her  in.  She  would 
never  be  tracked  there  by  her  own  people. 

The  long  ride  had  left  her  hot,  dusty,  scratched, 
with  tangled  hair  and  torn  habit.  She  went  over  to 
her  saddle,  which  Kells  had  removed  from  her  pony, 
and,  opening  the  saddle-bag,  she  took  inventory  of 
her  possessions.  They  were  few  enough,  but  now, 
in  view  of  an  unexpected  and  enforced  sojourn  in  the 
wilds,  beyond  all  calculation  of  value.  And  they  in 
cluded  towel,  soap,  tooth-brush,  mirror  and  comb  and 
brush,  a  red  scarf,  and  gloves.  It  occurred  to  her 
4  43 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

how  seldom  she  carried  that  bag  on  her  saddle,  and, 
thinking  back,  referred  the  fact  to  accident,  and  then 
with  honest  amusement  owned  that  the  motive 
might  have  been  also  a  little  vanity.  Taking  the 
bag,  she  went  to  a  flat  stone  by  the  brook  and,  roll 
ing  up  her  sleeves,  proceeded  to  improve  her  ap 
pearance.  With  deft  fingers  she  rebraided  her  hair 
and  arranged  it  as  she  had  worn  it  when  only  sixteen. 
Then,  resolutely,  she  got  up  and  crossed  over  to 
where  Kells  was  unpacking. 

"I'll  help  you  get  supper,"  she  said. 

He  was  on  his  knees  in  the  midst  of  a  jumble  of 
camp  duffle  that  had  been  hastily  thrown  together. 
He  looked  up  at  her — from  her  shapely,  strong, 
brown  arms  to  the  face  she  had  rubbed  rosy. 

"Say,  but  you're  a  pretty  girl!" 

He  said  it  enthusiastically,  in  unstinted  admira 
tion,  without  the  slightest  subtlety  or  suggestion;  and 
if  he  had  been  the  devil  himself  it  would  have  been 
no  less  a  compliment,  given  spontaneously  to  youth 
and  beauty. 

"I'm  glad  if  it's  so,  but  please  don't  tell  me,"  she 
rejoined,  simply. 

Then  with  swift  and  business-like  movements  she 
set  to  helping  him  with  the  mess  the  inexperienced 
pack-horse  had  made  of  that  particular  pack.  And 
when  that  was  straightened -out  she  began  with  the 
biscuit  dough  while  he  lighted  a  fire.  It  appeared 
to  be  her  skill,  rather  than  her  willingness,  that  he 
yielded  to.  He  said  very  little,  but  he  looked  at  her 
often.  And  he  had  little  periods  of  abstraction. 
The  situation  was  novel,  strange  to  him.  Some 
times  Joan  read  his  mind  and  sometimes  he  was  an 

44 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

enigma.  But  she  divined  when  he  was  thinking 
what  a  picture  she  looked  there,  on  her  knees  before 
the  bread-pan,  with  flour  on  her  arms;  of  the  differ 
ence  a  girl  brought  into  any  place;  of  how  strange 
it  seemed  that  this  girl,  instead  of  lying  a  limp  and 
disheveled  rag  under  a  tree,  weeping  and  praying 
for  home,  made  the  best  of  a  bad  situation  and  im 
proved  it  wonderfully  by  being  a  thoroughbred. 

Presently  they  sat  down,  cross  -  legged,  one  on 
each  side  of  the  tarpaulin,  and  began  the  meal. 
That  was  the  strangest  supper  Joan  ever  sat  down 
to ;  it  was  like  a  dream  where  there  was  danger  that 
tortured  her;  but  she  knew  she  was  dreaming  and 
would  soon  wake  up.  Kells  was  almost  impercepti 
bly  changing.  The  amiability  of  his  face  seemed  to 
have  stiffened.  The  only  time  he  addressed  her  was 
when  he  offered  to  help  her  to  more  meat  or  bread 
or  coffee.  After  the  meal  was  finished  he  would  not 
let  her  wash  the  pans  and  pots,  and  attended  to 
that  himself. 

Joan  went  to  the  seat  by  the  tree,  near  the  camp- 
fire.  A  purple  twilight  was  shadowing  the  canon. 
Far  above,  on  the  bold  peak  the  last  warmth  of  the 
afterglow  was  fading.  There  was  no  wind,  no 
sound,  no  movement.  Joan  wondered  where  Jim 
Cleve  was  then.  They  had  often  sat  in  the  twilight. 
She  felt  an  unreasonable  resentment  toward  him, 
knowing  she  was  to  blame,  but  blaming  him  for  her 
plight.  Then  suddenly  she  thought  of  her  uncle, 
of  home,  of  her  kindly  old  aunt  who  always  worried 
so  about  her.  Indeed,  there  was  cause  to  worry. 
She  felt  sorrier  for  them  than  for  herself.  And  that 
broke  her  spirit  momentarily.  Forlorn,  and  with  a 

45 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

wave  of  sudden  sorrow  and  dread  and  hopelessness, 
she  dropped  her  head  upon  her  knees  and  covered 
her  face.  Tears  were  a  relief.  She  forgot  Kells  and 
the  part  she  must  play.  But  she  remembered  swift 
ly — at  the  rude  touch  of  his  hand. 

"Here!     Are  you  crying?"  he  asked,  roughly. 

"Do  you  think  I'm  laughing?"  Joan  retorted. 
Her  wet  eyes,  as  she  raised  them,  were  proof  enough. 

"Stop  it." 

"I  can't  help — but  cry — a  little.  I  was  th — 
thinking  of  home — of  those  who've  been  father  and 
mother  to  me — since  I  was  a  baby.  I  wasn't  crying 
—for  myself.  But  they — they'll  be  so  miserable. 
They  loved  me  so." 

"It  won't  help  matters  to  cry." 

Joan  stood  up  then,  no  longer  sincere  and  forget 
ful,  but  the  girl  with  her  deep  and  cunning  game. 
She  leaned  close  to  him  in  the  twilight. 

"Did  you  ever  love  any  one?  Did  you  ever  have 
a  sister — a  girl  like  me?" 

Kells  stalked  away  into  the  gloom. 

Joan  was  left  alone.  She  did  not  know  whether 
to  interpret  his  abstraction,  his  temper,  and  his  action 
as  favorable  or  not.  Still  she  hoped  and  prayed  they 
meant  that  he  had  some  good  in  him.  If  she  could 
only  hide  her  terror,  her  abhorrence,  her  knowledge 
of  him  and  his  motive !  She  built  up  a  bright  camp- 
fire.  There  was  an  abundance  of  wood.  She 
dreaded  the  darkness  and  the  night.  Besides,  the 
air  was  growing  chilly.  So,  arranging  her  saddle 
and  blankets  near  the  fire,  she  composed  herself  in 
a  comfortable  seat  to  await  Kells 's  return  and  de 
velopments.  It  struck  her  forcibly  that  she  had 

46 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

lost  some  of  her  fear  of  Kells  and  she  did  not 
know  why.  She  ought  to  fear  him  more  every 
hour  —  every  minute.  Presently  she  heard  his 
step  brushing  the  grass  and  then  he  emerged  out 
of  the  gloom.  He  had  a  load  of  fire-wood  on  his 
shoulder. 

"Did  you  get  over  your  grief?"  he  asked,  glancing 
down  upon  her. 

"Yes,"  she  replied. 

Kells  stooped  for  a  red  ember,  with  which  he 
lighted  his  pipe,  and  then  he  seated  himself  a  little 
back  from  the  fire.  The  blaze  threw  a  bright  glare 
over  him,  and  in  it  he  looked  neither  formidable 
nor  vicious  nor  ruthless.  He  asked  her  where  she 
was  born,  and  upon  receiving  an  answer  he  followed 
that  up  with  another  question.  And  he  kept  this 
up  until  Joan  divined  that  he  was  not  so  much  in 
terested  in  what  he  apparently  wished  to  learn  as 
he  was  in  her  presence,  her  voice,  her  personality. 
She  sensed  in  him  loneliness,  hunger  for  the  sound 
of  a  voice.  She  had  heard  her  uncle  speak  of  the 
loneliness  of  lonely  camp-fires  and  how  all  men 
working  or  hiding  or  lost  in  the  wilderness  would  see 
sweet  faces  in  the  embers  and  be  haunted  by  soft 
voices.  After  all,  Kells  was  human.  And  she  talked 
as  never  before  in  her  life,  brightly,  willingly,  elo 
quently,  telling  the  facts  of  her  eventful  youth  and 
girlhood — the  sorrow  and  the  joy  and  some  of  the 
dreams — up  to  the  time  she  had  come  to  Camp 
Hoadley. 

"Did  you  leave  any  sweethearts  over  there  at 
Hoadley?"  he  asked,  after  a  silence. 

"Yes." 

47 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

"How  many?" 

"A  whole  campful,"  she  replied,  with  a  laugh, 
"but  admirers  is  a  better  name  for  them." 

"Then  there's  no  one  fellow?" 

"Hardly— yet." 

"How  would  you  like  being  kept  here  in  this  lone 
some  place  for — well,  say  for  ever?" 

"I  wouldn't  like  that,"  replied  Joan.  "I'd  like 
this — camping  out  like  this  now — if  my  folks  only 
knew  I  am  alive  and  well  and  safe.  I  love  lonely, 
dreamy  places.  I've  dreamed  of  being  in  just  such 
a  one  as  this.  It  seems  so  far  away  here — so  shut 
in  by  the  walls  and  the  blackness.  So  silent  and 
sweet!  I  love  the  stars.  They  speak  to  me.  And 
the  wind  in  the  spruces.  Hear  it.  ...  Very  low, 
mournful!  That  whispers  to  me — to-morrow  I'd 
like  it  here  if  I  had  no  worry.  I've  never  grown  up 
yet.  I  explore  and  climb  trees  and  hunt  for  little 
birds  and  rabbits — young  things  just  born,  all  fuzzy 
and  sweet,  frightened,  piping  or  squealing  for  their 
mothers.  But  I  won't  touch  one  for  worlds.  I 
simply  can't  hurt  anything.  I  can't  spur  my  horse 
or  beat  him.  Oh,  I  hate  pain!" 

"You're  a  strange  girl  to  live  out  here  on  this  bor 
der,"  h<?  said. 

"I'm  no  different  from  other  girls.  You  don't 
know  girls." 

"I  knew  one  pretty  well.  She  put  a  rope  round 
my  neck,"  he  replied,  grimly. 

"A  rope!" 

"Yes,  I  mean  a  halter,  a  hangman's  noose.  But 
I  balked  her!" 

"Oh!.  .  .A  good  girl?" 

48 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

"Bad!  Bad  to  the  core  of  her  black  heart — 
bad  as  I  am!"  he  exclaimed,  with  fierce,  low  pas 
sion. 

Joan  trembled.  The  man,  in  an  instant,  seemed 
transformed,  somber  as  death.  She  could  not  look 
at  him,  but  she  must  keep  on  talking. 

"Bad?  You  don't  seem  bad  to  me — only  violent, 
perhaps,  or  wild.  .  .  .  Tell  me  about  yourself." 

She  had  stirred  him.  His  neglected  pipe  fell  from 
his  hand.  In  the  gloom  of  the  camp-fire  he  must 
have  seen  faces  or  ghosts  of  his  past. 

"Why  not?"  he  queried,  strangely.  "Why  not 
do  what's  been  impossible  for  years — open  my  lips? 
It  '11  not  matter — to  a  girl  who  can  never  tell ! . . .  Have 
I  forgotten?  God! — I  have  not!  Listen,  so  that 
you'll  know  I'm  bad.  My  name's  not  Kells.  I  was 
born  in  the  East,  and  went  to  school  there  till  I  ran 
away.  I  was  young,  ambitious,  wild.  I  stole.  I  ran 
away  —  came  West  in  'fifty-one  to  the  gold-fields 
in  California.  There  I  became  a  prospector,  miner, 
gambler,  robber — and  road-agent.  I  had  evil  in 
me,  as, all  men  have,  and  those  wild  years  brought 
it  out.  I  had  no  chance.  Evil  and  gold  and  blood — 
they  are  one  and  the  same  thing.  I  committed 
every  crime  till  no  place,  bad  as  it  might  be,  was 
safe  for  me.  Driven  and  hunted  and  shot  and 
starved — almost  hanged! .  . .  And  row  I'm — Kells!  of 
that  outcast  crew  you  named  'the  Border  Legion'! 
Every  black  crime  but  one — the  blackest — and  that 
haunting  me,  itching  my  hands  to-night!" 

"Oh,  you  speak  so — so  dreadfully!"  cried  Joan. 
"What  can  I  say?  I'm  sorry  for  you.  I  don't  be 
lieve  it  all.  What — what  black  crime  haunts  you? 

49 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

Oh!  what  could  be  possible  to-night — here  in  this 
lonely  canon — with  only  me?" 

Dark  and  terrible  the  man  arose. 

1 '  Girl, ' '  he  said,  hoarsely.  ' '  To-night— to-night— 
I'll.  .  .  .  What  have  you  done  to  me?  One  more  day 
—and  I'll  be  mad  to  do  right  by  you — instead  of 
wrong.  .  .  .  Do  you  understand  that?" 

Joan  leaned  forward  in  the  camp-fire  light  with 
outstretched  hands  and  quivering  lips,  as  overcome 
by  his  halting  confession  of  one  last  remnant  of 
honor  as  she  was  by  the  dark  hint  of  his  passion. 

4 'No — no — I  don't  understand — nor  believe!"  she 
cried.  ''But  you  frighten  me — so!  I  am  all — all 
alone  with  you  here.  You  said  I'd  be  safe.  Don't 
-don't- 

Her  voice  broke  then  and  she  sank  back  exhausted 
in  her  seat.  Probably  Kells  had  heard  only  the  first 
words  of  her  appeal,  for  he  took  to  striding  back  and 
forth  in  the  circle  of  the  camp-fire  light.  The  scab 
bard  with  the  big  gun  swung  against  his  leg.  It 
grew  to  be  a  dark  and  monstrous  thing  in  Joan's 
sight.  A  marvelous  intuition  born  of  that  hour 
warned  her  of  Kells's  subjection  to  the  beast  in  him, 
even  while,  with  all  the  manhood  left  to  him,  he 
still  battled  against  it.  Her  girlish  sweetness  and 
innocence  had  availed  nothing,  except  mock  him 
with  the  ghost  of  dead  memories.  He  could  not  be 
won  or  foiled.  She  must  get  her  hands  on  that  gun 
—kill  him — or — !  The  alternative  was  death  for 
herself.  And  she  leaned  there,  slowly  gathering  all 
the  unconquerable  and  unquenchable  forces  of  a 
woman's  nature,  waiting,  to  make  one  desperate, 
supreme,  and  final  effort. 


CHAPTER  V 

KELLS  strode  there,  a  black,  silent  shadow, 
plodding  with  bent  head,  as  if  all  about  and 
above  him  were  demons  and  furies. 

Joan's  perceptions  of  him,  of  the  night,  of  the  in 
animate  and  impondering  black  walls,  and  of  her 
self,  were  exquisitely  and  abnormally  keen.  She 
saw  him  there,  bowed  under  his  burden,  gloomy  and 
wroth  and  sick  with  himself  because  the  man  in 
him  despised  the  coward.  Men  of  his  stamp  were 
seldom  or  never  cowards.  Their  life  did  not  breed 
cowardice  or  baseness.  Joan  knew  the  burning  in 
her  breast — that  thing  which  inflamed  and  swept 
through  her  like  a  wind  of  fire — was  hate.  Yet  her 
heart  held  a  grain  of  pity  for  him.  She  measured 
his  forbearance,  his  struggle,  against  the  monstrous 
cruelty  and  passion  engendered  by  a  wild  life  among 
wild  men  at  a  wild  time.  And,  considering  his  op 
portunities  of  the  long  hours  and  lonely  miles,  she 
was  grateful,  and  did  not  in  the  least  underestimate 
what  it  cost  him,  how  different  from  Bill  or  Hallo- 
way  he  had  been.  But  all  this  was  nothing,  and  her 
thinking  of  it  useless,  unless  he  conquered  himself. 
She  only  waited,  holding  on  to  that  steel-like  con 
trol  of  her  nerves,  motionless  and  silent. 

She  leaned  back  against  her  saddle,  a  blanket  cov- 

51 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

ering  her,  with  wide-open  eyes,  and  despite  the 
presence  of  that  stalking  figure  and  the  fact  of  her 
mind  being  locked  round  one  terrible  and  inevitable 
thought,  she  saw  the  changing  beautiful  glow  of  the 
fire-logs  and  the  cold,  pitiless  stars  and  the  muster 
ing  shadows  under  the  walls.  She  heard,  too,  the 
low  rising  sigh  of  the  wind  in  the  balsam  and  the 
silvery  tinkle  of  the  brook,  and  sounds  only  im 
agined  or  nameless.  Yet  a  stern  and  insupportable 
silence  weighed  her  down.  This  dark  canon  seemed 
at  the  ends  of  the  earth.  She  felt  encompassed  by 
illimitable  and  stupendous  upflung  mountains,  in 
sulated  in  a  vast,  dark,  silent  tomb. 

Kells  suddenly  came  to  her,  treading  noiselessly, 
and  he  leaned  over  her.  His  visage  was  a  dark 
blur,  but  the  posture  of  him  was  that  of  a  wolf  about 
to  spring.  Lower  he  leaned — slowly — and  yet  lower. 
Joan  saw  the  heavy  gun  swing  away  from  his  leg; 
she  saw  it  black  and  clear  against  the  blaze;  a  cold, 
blue  light  glinted  from  its  handle.  And  then  Kells 
was  near  enough  for  her  to  see  his  face  and  his  eyes 
that  were  but  shadows  of  flames.  She  gazed  up  at 
him  steadily,  open-eyed,  with  no  fear  or  shrinking. 
His  breathing  was  quick  and  loud.  He  looked  down 
at  her  for  an  endless  moment,  then,  straightening  his 
bent  form,  he  resumed  his  walk  to  and  fro. 

After  that  for  Joan  time  might  have  consisted  of 
moments  or  hours,  each  of  which  was  marked  by 
Kells  looming  over  her.  He  appeared  to  approach 
her  from  all  sides;  he  found  her  wide-eyed,  sleepless; 
his  shadowy  glance  gloated  over  her  lithe,  slender 
shape;  and  then  he  strode  away  into  the  gloom. 
Sometimes  she  could  no  longer  hear  his  steps  and 

52 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

then  she  was  quiveringly  alert,  listening,  fearful 
that  he  might  creep  upon  her  like  a  panther.  At 
times  he  kept  the  camp-fire  blazing  brightly;  at 
others  he  let  it  die  down.  And  these  dark  intervals 
were  frightful  for  her.  The  night  seemed  treacher 
ous,  in  league  with  her  foe.  It  was  endless.  She 
prayed  for  dawn — yet  with  a  blank  hopelessness  for 
what  the  day  might  bring.  Could  she  hold  out 
through  more  interminable  hours?  Would  she  not 
break  from  sheer  strain?  There  were  moments 
when  she  wavered  and  shook  like  a  leaf  in  the 
wind,  when  the  beating  of  her  heart  was  audible, 
when  a  child  could  have  seen  her  distress.  There 
were  other  moments  when  all  was  ugly,  unreal,  im 
possible  like  things  in  a  nightmare.  But  when 
Kells  was  near  or  approached  to  look  at  her,  like 
a  cat  returned  to  watch  a  captive  mouse,  she  was 
again  strong,  waiting,  with  ever  a  strange  and  cold 
sense  of  the  nearness  of  that  swinging  gun.  Late 
in  the  night  she  missed  him,  for  how  long  she  had 
no  idea.  She  had  less  trust  in  his  absence  than  his 
presence.  The  nearer  he  came  to  her  the  stronger 
she  grew  and  the  clearer  of  purpose.  At  last  the 
black  void  of  canon  lost  its  blackness  and  turned 
to  gray.  Dawn  was  at  hand.  The  horrible  end 
less  night,  in  which  she  had  aged  from  girl  to  woman, 
had  passed.  Joan  had  never  closed  her  eyes  a  single 
instant. 

When  day  broke  she  got  up.  The  long  hours  in 
which  she  had  rested  motionlessly  had  left  her 
muscles  cramped  and  dead.  She  began  to  walk  off 
the  feeling.  Kells  had  just  stirred  from  his  blanket 
under  the  balsam-tree.  His  face  was  dark,  haggard, 

53 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

lined.  She  saw  him  go  down  to  the  brook  and 
plunge  his  hands  into  the  water  and  bathe  his  face 
with  a  kind  of  fury.  Then  he  went  up  to  the 
smoldering  fire.  There  was  a  gloom,  a  somber- 
ness,  a  hardness  about  him  that  had  not  been 
noticeable  the  day  before. 

Joan  found  the  water  cold  as  ice,  soothing  to  the 
burn  beneath  her  skin.  She  walked  away  then, 
aware  that  Kells  did  not  appear  to  care,  and  went 
up  to  where  the  brook  brawled  from  under  the  cliff. 
This  was  a  hundred  paces  from  camp,  though  in 
plain  sight.  Joan  looked  round  for  her  horse,  but 
he  was  not  to  be  seen.  She  decided  to  slip  away 
the  first  opportunity  that  offered,  and  on  foot  or 
horseback,  any  way,  to  get  out  of  Kells 's  clutches  if 
she  had  to  wander,  lost  in  the  mountains,  till  she 
starved.  Possibly  the  day  might  be  endurable,  but 
another  night  would  drive  her  crazy.  She  sat  on  a 
ledge,  planning  and  brooding,  till  she  was  startled  by 
a  call  from  Kells.  Then  slowly  she  retraced  her 
steps. 

"Don't  you  want  to  eat?"  he  asked. 

"I'm  not  hungry,"  she  replied. 

"Well,  eat  anyhow — if  it  chokes  you,"  he  ordered, 

Joan  seated  herself  while  he  placed  food  and  drink 
before  her.  She  did  not  look  at  him  and  did  not  feel 
his  gaze  upon  her.  Far  asunder  as  they  had  been 
yesterday  the  distance  between  them  to-day  was 
incalculably  greater.  She  ate  as  much  as  she  could 
swallow  and  pushed  the  rest  away.  Leaving  the 
camp-fire,  she  began  walking  again,  here  and  there, 
aimlessly,  scarcely  seeing  what  she  looked  at.  There 
was  a  shadow  over  her,  an  impending  portent  of 

54 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

catastrophe,  a  moment  standing  dark  and  sharp  out 
of  the  age-long  hour.  She  leaned  against  the  balsam 
and  then  she  rested  in  the  stone  seat,  and  then  she 
had  to  walk  again.  It  might  have  been  long,  that 
time;  she  never  knew  how  long  or  short.  There 
came  a  strange  flagging,  sinking  of  her  spirit,  accom 
panied  by  vibrating,  restless,  uncontrollable  muscular 
activity.  Her  nerves  were  on  the  verge  of  collapse. 

It  was  then  that  a  call  from  Kells,  clear  and  ring 
ing,  thrilled  all  the  weakness  from  her  in  a  flash, 
and  left  her  strung  and  cold.  She  saw  him  coming. 
His  face  looked  amiable  again,  bright  against  what 
seemed  a  vague  and  veiled  background.  Like  a 
mountaineer  he  strode.  And  she  looked  into  his 
strange,  gray  glance  to  see  unmasked  the  ruthless 
power,  the  leaping  devil,  the  ungovernable  passion 
she  had  sensed  in  him. 

He  grasped  her  arm  and  with  a  single  pull  swung 
her  to  him.  "  You've  got  to  pay  that  ransom!  " 

He  handled  her  as  if  he  thought  she  resisted,  but 
she  was  unresisting.  She  hung  her  head  to  hide  her 
eyes.  Then  he  placed  an  arm  round  her  shoulders 
and  half  led,  half  dragged  her  toward  the  cabin. 

Joan  saw  with  startling  distinctness  the  bits  of  bal 
sam  and  pine  at  her  feet  and  pale  pink  daisies  in  the 
grass,  and  then  the  dry  withered  boughs.  She  was 
in  the  cabin. 

"Girl!  .  .  .  I'm  hungry — for  you!"  he  breathed, 
hoarsely.  And  turning  her  toward  him,  he  embraced 
her,  as  if  his  nature  was  savage  and  he  had  to  use 
a  savage  force. 

If  Joan  struggled  at  all,  it  was  only  slightly,  when 
she  writhed  and  slipped,  like  a  snake,  to  get  her  arm 

55 


THE    BORDER   LEGION 

under  his  as  it  clasped  her  neck.  Then  she  let  her 
self  go.  He  crushed  her  to  him.  He  bent  her  back 
ward — tilted  her  face  with  hard  and  eager  hand. 
Like  a  madman,  with  hot  working  lips,  he  kissed  her. 
She  felt  blinded — scorched.  But  her  purpose  was 
as  swift  and  sure  and  wonderful  as  his  passion  was 
wild.  The  first  reach  of  her  groping  hand  found  his 
gun-belt.  Swift  as  light  her  hand  slipped  down. 
Her  fingers  touched  the  cold  gun — grasped  with 
thrill  on  thrill — slipped  farther  down,  strong  and 
sure  to  raise  the  hammer.  Then  with  a  leaping, 
strung  intensity  that  matched  his  own  she  drew  the 
gun.  She  raised  it  while  her  eyes  were  shut.  She 
lay  passive  under  his  kisses — the  devouring  kisses 
of  one  whose  manhood  had  been  denied  the  sweet 
ness,  the  glory,  the  fire,  the  life  of  woman's  lips. 
It  was  a  moment  in  which  she  met  his  primitive  fury 
of  possession  with  a  woman's  primitive  fury  of  pro 
fanation.  She  pressed  the  gun  against  his  side  and 
pulled  the  trigger. 

A  thundering,  muffled,  hollow  boom !  The  odor  of 
burned  powder  stung  her  nostrils.  Kells's  hold  on 
her  tightened  convulsively,  loosened  with  strange, 
lessening  power.  She  swayed  back  free  of  him,  still 
with  tight-shut  eyes.  A  horrible  cry  escaped  him — 
a  cry  of  mortal  agony.  It  wrenched  her.  And  sjie 
looked  to  see  him  staggering  amazed,  stricken,  at  bay, 
like  a  wolf  caught  in  cruel  steel  jaws.  His  hands 
came  away  from  both  sides,  dripping  with  blood. 
They  shook  till  the  crimson  drops  spattered  on  the 
wall,  on  the  boughs.  Then  he  seemed  to  realize 
and  he  clutched  at  her  with  these  bloody  hands. 

"God  Almighty!"  he  panted.  "You  shot  me! 

56 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

.  .  .  You — you  girl!  .  .  .  You  fooled  me!  ...  You 
knew — all  the  time ! .  ,  .  You  she-cat !  .  .  .  Give  me — 

that  gun!" 

"Kells,  get  back!  I'll  kill  you!"  she  cried.  The 
big  gun,  outstretched  between  them,  began  to  waver. 

Kells  did  not  see  the  gun.  In  his  madness  he  tried 
to  move,  to  reach  her,  but  he  could  not ;  he  was  sink 
ing.  His  legs  sagged  under  him,  let  him  down  to 
his  knees,  and  but  for  the  wall  he  would  have  fallen. 
Then  a  change  transformed  him.  The  black,  turgid, 
convulsed  face  grew  white  and  ghastly,  with  beads 
of  clammy  sweat  and  lines  of  torture.  His  strange 
eyes  showed  swiftly  passing  thought — wonder,  fear, 
scorn — even  admiration. 

* '  Joan,  you've  done — for  me !"  he  gasped.  ' '  You've 
broken  my  back!  .  .  .  It'll  kill  me!  Oh!  the  pain— 
the  pain!  And  I  can't  stand  pain!  You — you  girl! 
You  innocent  seventeen-year-old  girl!  You  that 
couldn't  hurt  any  creature!  You  so  tender — so  gen 
tle ! ...  Bah !  you  fooled  me.  The  cunning  of  a  wom 
an!  I  ought — to  know.  A  good  woman's — more 
terrible  than  a — bad  woman.  .  .  .  But  I  deserved  this. 
Once  I  used — to  be.  ...  Only,  the  torture!  .  .  .  Why 
didn't  you — kill  me  outright?  .  .  .  Joan — Randle — 
watch  me — die!  Since  I  had — to  die — by  rope  or 
bullet — I'm  glad  you — you — did  for  me.  .  .  .  Man  or 
beast — I  believe — I  loved  you!" 

Joan  dropped  the  gun  and  sank  beside  him,  help 
less,  horror-stricken,  wringing  her  hands.  She  want 
ed  to  tell  him  she  was  sorry,  that  he  drove  her  to  it, 
that  he  must  let  her  pray  for  him.  But  she  could 
not  speak.  Her  tongue  clove  to  the  roof  of  her 
mouth  and  she  seemed  strangling. 

57 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

Another  change,  slower  and  more  subtle,  passed 
over  Kells.  He  did  not  see  Joan.  He  forgot  her. 
The  white  shaded  out  of  his  face,  leaving  a  gray  like 
that  of  his  somber  eyes.  Spirit,  sense,  life,  were 
fading  from  him.  The  quivering  of  a  racked  body 
ceased.  And  all  that  seemed  left  was  a  lonely  soul 
groping  on  the  verge  of  the  dim  borderland  between 
life  and  death.  Presently  his  shoulders  slipped  along 
the  wall  and  he  fell,  to  lie  limp  and  motionless  before 
Joan.  Then  she  fainted. 


CHAPTER  VI 

WHEN  Joan  returned  to  consciousness  she  was 
lying  half  outside  the  opening  of  the  cabin  and 
above  her  was  a  drift  of  blue  gun-smoke,  slowly 
floating  upward.  Almost  as  swiftly  as  perception  of 
that  smoke  came  a  shuddering  memory.  She  lay 
still,  listening.  She  did  not  hear  a  sound  except  the 
tinkle  and  babble  and  gentle  rush  of  the  brook. 
Kells  was  dead,  then.  And  overmastering  the  hor 
ror  of  her  act  was  a  relief,  a  freedom,  a  lifting  of  her 
soul  out  of  dark  dread,  a  something  that  whispered 
justification  of  the  fatal  deed. 

She  got  up  and,  avoiding  to  look  within  the  cabin, 
walked  away.  The  sun  was  almost  at  the  zenith. 
Where  had  the  morning  hours  gone  ? 

"I  must  get  away,"  she  said,  suddenly.  The 
thought  quickened  her.  Down  the  canon  the  horses 
were  grazing.  She  hurried  along  the  trail,  trying 
to  decide  whether  to  follow  this  dim  old  trail  or 
endeavor  to  get  out  the  way  she  had  been  brought 
in.  She  decided  upon  the  latter.  If  she  traveled 
slowly,  and  watched  for  familiar  landmarks,  things 
she  had  seen  once,  and  hunted  carefully  for  the 
tracks,  she  believed  she  might  be  successful.  She 
had  the  courage  to  try.  Then  she  caught  her  pony 
and  led  him  back  to  camp.- 
5  59- 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

"What  shall  I  take?"  she  pondered.  She  decided 
upon  very  little — a  blanket,  a  sack  of  bread  and  meat, 
and  a  canteen  of  water.  She  might  need  a  weapon, 
also.  There  was  only  one,  the  gun  with  which  she 
had  killed  Kells.  It  seemed  utterly  impossible  to 
touch  that  hateful  thing.  But  now  that  she  had 
liberated  herself,  and  at  such  cost,  she  must  not 
yield  to  sentiment.  Resolutely  she  started  for  the 
cabin,  but  when  she  reached  it  her  steps  were  drag 
ging.  The  long,  dull-blue  gun  lay  where  she  had 
dropped  it.  And  out  of  the  tail  of  averted  eyes  she 
saw  a  huddled  shape  along  the  wall.  It  was  a  sick 
ening  moment  when  she  reached  a  shaking  hand  for 
the  gun.  And  at  that  instant  a  low  moan  trans 
fixed  her. 

She  seemed  frozen  rigid.  Was  the  place  already 
haunted?  Her  heart  swelled  in  her  throat  and  a 
dimness  came  before  her  eyes.  But  another  moan 
brought  swift  realization — Kells  was  alive.  And  the 
cold  clamping  sickness,  the  strangle  in  her  throat, 
all  the  feelings  of  terror,  changed  and  were  lost  in 
a  flood  of  instinctive  joy.  He  was  not  dead.  She 
had  not  killed  him.  She  did  not  have  blood  on  her 
hands.  She  was  not  a  murderer. 

She  whirled  to  look  at  him.  There  he  lay,  ghastly 
as  a  corpse.  And  all  her  woman's  gladness  fled. 
But  there  was  compassion  left  to  her,  and,  forgetting 
all  else,  she  knelt  beside  him.  He  was  as  cold  as 
stone.  She  felt  no  stir,  no  beat  of  pulse  in  temple 
or  wrist.  Then  she  placed  her  ear  against  his  breast. 
His  heart  beat  weakly. 

"He's  alive,"  she  whispered.  "But — he's  dying. 
.  .  .  What  shall  I  do?" 

60 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

Many  thoughts  flashed  across  her  mind.  She 
could  not  help  him  now;  he  would  be  dead  soon; 
she  did  not  need  to  wait  there  beside  him;  there 
was  a  risk  of  some  of  his  comrades  riding  into  that 
rendezvous.  Suppose  his  back  was  not  broken,  after 
all!  Suppose  she  stopped  the  flow  of  blood,  tended 
him,  nursed  him,  saved  his  life?  For  if  there  were 
one  chance  of  his  living,  which  she  doubted,  it  must 
be  through  her.  Would  he  not  be  the  same  savage 
the  hour  he  was  well  and  strong  again?  What  dif 
ference  could  she  make  in  such  a  nature?  The  man 
was  evil.  He  could  not  conquer  evil.  She  had 
been  witness  to  that.  He  had  driven  Roberts  to 
draw  and  had  killed  him.  No  doubt  he  had  delib 
erately  and  coldly  murdered  the  two  ruffians,  Bill 
and  Hallo  way,  just  so  he  could  be  free  of  their 
glances  at  her  and  be  alone  with  her.  He  deserved 
to  die  there  like  a  dog. 

What  Joan  Randle  did  was  surely  a  woman's 
choice.  Carefully  she  rolled  Kells  over.  The  back 
of  his  vest  and  shirt  was  wet  with  blood.  She  got 
up  to  find  a  knife,  towel,  and  water.  As  she  returned 
to  the  cabin  he  moaned  again. 

Joan  had  dressed  many  a  wound.  She  was  not 
afraid  of  blood.  The  difference  here  was  that  she 
had  shed  it.  She  felt  sick,  but  her  hands  were 
firm  as  she  cut  open  the  vest  and  shirt,  rolled  them 
aside,  and  bathed  his  back.  The  big  bullet  had 
made  a  gaping  wound,  having  apparently  gone 
through  the  small  of  the  back.  The  blood  still 
flowed.  She  could  not  tell  whether  or  not  Kells's 
spine  was  broken,  but  she  believed  that  the  bullet 
had  gone  between  bone  and  muscle,  or  had  glanced. 

61 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

There  was  a  blue  welt  just  over  his  spine,  in  line 
with  the  course  of  the  wound.  She  tore  her  scarf 
into  strips  and  used  it  for  compresses  and  bandages. 
Then  she  laid  him  back  upon  a  saddle-blanket.  She 
had  done  all  that  was  possible  for  the  present,  and 
it  gave  her  a  strange  sense  of  comfort.  She  even 
prayed  for  his  life  and,  if  that  must  go,  for  his  soul. 
Then  she  got  up.  He  was  unconscious,  white,  death 
like.  It  seemed  that  his  torture,  his  near  approach 
to  death,  had  robbed  his  face  of  ferocity,  of  ruth- 
lessness,  and  of  that  strange  amiable  expression. 
But  then,  his  eyes,  those  furnace-windows,  were 
closed. 

Joan  waited  for  the  end  to  come.  The  afternoon 
passed  and  she  did  not  leave  the  cabin.  It  was  pos 
sible  that  he  might  come  to  and  want  water.  She 
had  once  ministered  to  a  miner  who  had  been  fatally 
crushed  in  an  avalanche;  and  never  could  she  for 
get  his  husky  call  for  water  and  the  gratitude  in  his 
eyes. 

Sunset,  twilight,  and  night  fell  upon  the  canon. 
And  she  began  to  feel  solitude  as  something  tangible. 
Bringing  saddle  and  blankets  into  the  cabin,  she 
made  a  bed  just  inside,  and,  facing  the  opening  and 
the  stars,  she  lay  down  to  rest,  if  not  to  sleep.  The 
darkness  did  not  keep  her  from  seeing  the  prostrate 
figure  of  Kells.  He  lay  there  as  silent  as  if  he  were 
already  dead.  She  was  exhausted,  weary  for  sleep, 
and  unstrung.  In  the  night  her  courage  fled  and 
she  was  frightened  at  shadows.  The  murmuring  of 
insects  seemed  augmented  into  a  roar;  the  mourn  of 
wolf  and  scream  of  cougar  made  her  start ;  the  rising 
wind  moaned  like  a  lost  spirit.  Dark  fancies  beset 

62 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

her.  Troop  on  troop  of  specters  moved  out  of  the 
black  night,  assembling  there,  waiting  for  Kells  to 
join  them.  She  thought  she  was  riding  homeward 
over  the  back  trail,  sure  of  her  way,  remembering 
every  rod  of  that  rough  travel,  until  she  got  out  of 
the  mountains,  only  to  be  turned  back  by  dead  men. 
Then  fancy  and  dream,  and  all  the  haunted  gloom 
of  canon  and  cabin,  seemed  slowly  to  merge  into  one 
immense  blackness. 

The  sun,  rimming  the  east  wall,  shining  into  Joan's 
face,  awakened  her.  She  had  slept  hours.  She  felt 
rested,  stronger.  Like  the  night,  something  dark 
had  passed  away  from  her.  It  did  not  seem  strange 
to  her  that  she  should  feel  that  Kells  still  lived.  She 
knew  it.  And  examination  proved  her  right.  In 
him  there  had  been  no  change  except  that  he  had 
ceased  to  bleed.  There  was  just  a  flickering  of  life 
in  him,  manifest  only  in  his  slow,  faint  heart-beats. 

Joan  spent  most  of  that  day  in  sitting  beside  Kells. 
The  whole  day  seemed  only  an  hour.  Sometimes 
she  would  look  down  the  canon  trail,  half  expecting 
to  see  horsemen  riding  up.  If  any  of  Kells's  com 
rades  happened  to  come,  what  could  she  tell  them? 
They  would  be  as  bad  as  he,  without  that  one  trait 
which  had  kept  him  human  for  a  day.  Joan  pon 
dered  upon  this.  It  would  never  do  to  let  them 
suspect  she  had  shot  Kells.  So,  carefully  cleaning 
the  gun,  she  reloaded  it.  If  any  men  came,  she 
would  tell  them  that  Bill  had  done  the  shooting. 

Kells  lingered.  Joan  began  to  feel  that  he  would 
live,  though  everything  indicated  the  contrary. 
Her  intelligence  told  her  he  would  die,  and  her 

63 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

feeling  said  he  would  not.  At  times  she  lifted  his 
head  and  got  water  into  his  mouth  with  a  spoon. 
When  she  did  this  he  would  moan.  That  night, 
during  the  hours  she  lay  awake,  she  gathered  cour 
age  out  of  the  very  solitude  and  loneliness.  She 
had  nothing  to  fear,  unless  some  one  came  to  the 
canon.  The  next  day  in  no  wise  differed  from  the 
preceding.  And  then  there  came  the  third  day, 
with  no  change  in  Kells  till  near  evening,  when  she 
thought  he  was  returning  to  consciousness.  But  she 
must  have  been  mistaken.  For  hours  she  watched 
patiently.  He  might  return  to  consciousness  just 
before  the  end,  and  want  to  speak,  to  send  a  mes 
sage,  to  ask  a  prayer,  to  feel  a  human  hand  at  the 
last. 

That  night  the  crescent  moon  hung  over  the  canon. 
In  the  faint  light  Joan  could  see  the  blanched  face 
of  Kells,  strange  and  sad,  no  longer  seeming  evil. 
The  time  came  when  his  lips  stirred.  He  tried  to 
talk.  She  moistened  his  lips  and  gave  him  to  drink. 
He  murmured  incoherently,  sank  again  into  a  stupor, 
to  rouse  once  more  and  babble  like  a  madman. 
Then  he  lay  quietly  for  long — so  long  that  sleep 
was  claiming  Joan.  Suddenly  he  startled  her  by 
calling  very  faintly  but  distinctly :  ' '  Water !  Water ! ' ' 

Joan  bent  over  him,  lifting  his  head,  helping  him 
to  drink.  She  could  see  his  eyes,  like  dark  holes  in 
something  white. 

"Is — that — you — mother?"  he  whispered. 

"Yes,"  replied  Joan. 

He  sank  immediately  into  another  stupor  or  sleep, 
from  which  he  did  not  rouse.  That  whisper  of  his 
— mother — touched  Joan.  Bad  men  had  mothers 

64 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

just  the  same  as  any  other  kind  of  men.  Even  this 
Kells  had  a  mother.  He  was  still  a  young  man. 
He  had  been  youth,  boy,  child,  baby.  Some  mother 
had  loved  him,  cradled  him,  kissed  his  rosy  baby 
hands,  watched  him  grow  with  pride  and  glory,  built 
castles  in  her  dreams  of  his  manhood,  and  perhaps 
prayed  for  him  still,  trusting  he  was  strong  and 
honored  among  men.  And  here  he  lay,  a  shattered 
wreck,  dying  for  a  wicked  act,  the  last  of  many 
crimes.  It  was  a  tragedy.  It  made  Joan  think  of 
the  hard  lot  of  mothers,  and  then  of  this  unsettled 
Western  wild,  where  men  flocked  in  packs  like  wolves, 
and  spilled  blood  like  water,  and  held  life  nothing. 

Joan  sought  her  rest  and  soon  slept.  In  the  morn 
ing  she  did  not  at  once  go  to  Kells.  Somehow  she 
dreaded  finding  him  conscious,  almost  as  much  as 
she  dreaded  the  thought  of  finding  him  dead.  When 
she  did  bend  over  him  he  was  awake,  and  at  sight 
of  her  he  showed  a  faint  amaze. 

''Joan!"  he  whispered. 

"Yes,"  she  replied. 

"Are  you — with  me  still?" 

"Of  course.     I  couldn't  leave  you." 

The  pale  eyes  shadowed  strangely,  darkly.  "I'm 
alive  yet.  And  you  stayed !  .  .  .  Was  it  yesterday— 
you  threw  my  gun — on  me?" 

"No.     Four  days  ago." 

"Four!     Is  my  back  broken?" 

"I  don't  know.  I  don't  think  so.  It's  a  terrible 
wound.  I — I  did  all  I  could." 

"You  tried  to  kill  me — then  tried  to  save  me?" 

She  was  silent  to  that. 

"You're  good — and  you've  been  noble,"  he  said. 

65 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

"But  I  wish — you'd  been  only  bad.     Then  I'd  curse 
you — and  strangle  you — presently." 

"Perhaps  you  had  best  be  quiet,"  replied  Joan. 

"No.  I've  been  shot  before.  I'll  get  over  this — 
if  my  back's  not  broken.  How  can  we  tell?" 

"I've  no  idea." 

"Lift  me  up." 

"But  you  might  open  your  wound,"  protested 
Joan. 

"Lift  me  up!"  The  force  of  the  man  spoke  even 
in  his  low  whisper. 

"But  why — why?"  asked  Joan. 

"I  want  to  see — if  I  can  sit  up.  If  I  can't — give 
me  my  gun." 

"I  won't  let  you  have  it,"  replied  Joan.  Then  she 
slipped  her  arms  under  his  and,  carefully  raising  him 
to  a  sitting  posture,  released  her  hold. 

"I'm — a — rank  coward — about  pain,"  he  gasped, 
with  thick  drops  standing  out  on  his  white  face. 
"I— can't— stand  it." 

But  tortured  or  not,  he  sat  up  alone,  and  even  had 
the  will  to  bend  his  back.  Then  with  a  groan  he 
fainted  and  fell  into  Joan's  arms.  She  laid  him 
down  and  worked  over  him  for  some  time  before 
she  could  bring  him  to.  Then  he  was  wan,  suffering, 
speechless.  But  she  believed  he  would  live  and  told 
him  so.  He  received  that  with  a  strange  smile. 
Later,  when  she  came  to  him  with  a  broth,  he  drank 
it  gratefully. 

"I'll  beat  this  out,"  he  said,  weakly.  "I'll  re 
cover.  My  back's  not  broken.  I'll  get  well.  Now 
you  bring  water  and  food  in  here — then  you  go." 

"Go?"  she  echoed. 

66 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

"Yes.  Don't  go  down  the  canon.  You'd  be 
worse  off.  .  .  .  Take  the  back  trail.  You've  a  chance 
to  get  out.  ...  Go!" 

"Leave  you  here?  So  weak  you  can't  lift  a  cup! 
I  won't." 

"I'd  rather  you  did." 

"Why?" 

"Because  in  a  few  days  I'll  begin  to  mend.  Then 
I'll  grow  like — myself.  ...  I  think — I'm  afraid  I 
loved  you.  ...  It  could  only  be  hell  for  you.  Go 
now,  before  it's  too  late!  ...  If  you  stay — till  I'm 
well — I'll  never  let  you  go!" 

"Kells,  I  believe  it  would  be  cowardly  for  me  to 
leave  you  here  alone,"  she  replied,  earnestly.  "You 
can't  help  yourself.  You'd  die." 

"All  the  better.  But  I  won't  die.  I'm  hard  to 
kill.  Go,  I  tell  you." 

She  shook  her  head.  "This  is  bad  for  you — 
arguing.  You're  excited.  Please  be  quiet." 

"Joan  Randle,  if  you  stay — I'll  halter  you — keep 
you  naked  in  a  cave — curse  you — beat  you — murder 
you!  Oh,  it's  in  me!  ...  Go,  I  tell  you!" 

"You're  out  of  your  head.  Once  for  all — no!" 
she  replied,  firmly. 

" 'You  —  you  —  "  His  voice  failed  in  a  terrible 
whisper. 

In  the  succeeding  days  Kells  did  not  often  speak. 
His  recovery  was  slow — a  matter  of  doubt.  Noth 
ing  was  any  plainer  than  the  fact  that  if  Joan  had 
left  him  he  would  not  have  lived  long.  She  knew 
it.  And  he  knew  it.  When  he  was  awake,  and  she 
came  to  him,  a  mournful  and  beautiful  smile  lit  his 

67 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

©yes.  The  sight  of  her  apparently  hurt  him  and 
uplifted  him.  But  he  slept  twenty  hours  out  of 
every  day,  and  while  he  slept  he  did  not  need  Joan. 
She  came  to  know  the  meaning  of  solitude.  There 
were  days  when  she  did  not  hear  the  sound  of  her 
own  voice.  A  habit  of  silence,  one  of  the  significant 
forces  of  solitude,  had  grown  upon  her.  Daily  she 
thought  less  and  felt  more.  For  hours  she  did 
nothing.  When  she  roused  herself,  compelled  her 
self  to  think  of  these  encompassing  peaks  of  the  lone 
ly  canon  walls,  the  stately  trees,  all  those  eternally 
silent  and  changeless  features  of  her  solitude,  she 
hated  them  with  a  blind  and  unreasoning  passion. 
She  hated  them  because  she  was  losing  her  love  for 
them,  because  they  were  becoming  a  part  of  her, 
because  they  were  fixed  and  content  and  passionless. 
She  liked  to  sit  in  the  sun,  feel  its  warmth,  see  its 
brightness;  and  sometimes  she  almost  forgot  to  go 
back  to  her  patient.  She  fought  at  times  against  an 
insidious  change — a  growing  older — a  going  back 
ward  ;  at  other  times  she  drifted  through  hours  that 
seemed  quiet  and  golden,  in  which  nothing  hap 
pened.  And  by  and  by  when  she  realized  that 
the  drifting  hours  were  gradually  swallowing  up  the 
restless  and  active  hours,  then,  strangely,  she  remem 
bered  Jim  Cleve.  Memory  of  him  came  to  save  her. 
She  dreamed  of  him  during  the  long,  lonely,  solemn 
days,  and  in  the  dark,  silent  climax  of  unbearable 
solitude — the  night.  She  remembered  his  kisses,  for 
got  her  anger  and  shame,  accepted  the  sweetness  of 
their  meaning,  and  so  in  the  interminable  hours  of 
her  solitude  she  dreamed  herself  into  love  for 
him. 

68 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

Joan  kept  some  record  of  days,  until  three  weeks 
or  thereabout  passed,  and  then  she  lost  track  of 
time.  It  dragged  along,  yet,  looked  at  as  the  past, 
it  seemed  to  have  sped  swiftly.  The  change  in  her, 
the  growing  old,  the  revelation  and  responsibility  of 
self,  as  a  woman,  made  this  experience  appear  to 
have  extended  over  months. 

Kells  slowly  became  convalescent  and  then  he  had 
a  relapse.  Something  happened,  the  nature  of  which 
Joan  could  not  tell,  and  he  almost  died.  There  were 
days  when  his  life  hung  in  the  balance,  when  he 
could  not  talk ;  and  then  came  a  perceptible  turn  for 
the  better. 

The  store  of  provisions  grew  low,  and  Joan  began 
to  face  another  serious  situation.  Deer  and  rabbit 
were  plentiful  in  the  canon,  but  she  could  not  kill 
one  with  a  revolver.  She  thought  she  would  be 
forced  to  sacrifice  one  of  the  horses.  The  fact  that 
Kells  suddenly  showed  a  craving  for  meat  brought 
this  aspect  of  the  situation  to  a  climax.  And  that 
very  morning  while  Joan  was  pondering  the  matter 
she  saw  a  number  of  horsemen  riding  up  the  canon 
toward  the  cabin.  At  the  moment  she  was  relieved, 
and  experienced  nothing  of  the  dread  she  had  for 
merly  felt  while  anticipating  this  very  event. 

"Kells,"  she  said,  quickly,  "there  are  men  riding 
up  the  trail." 

"Good!"  he  exclaimed,  weakly,  with  a  light  on  his 
drawn  face.  "They've  been  long  in — getting  here. 
How  many?" 

Joan  counted  them — five  riders,  and  several  pack- 
animals. 

"Yes.     It's  Gulden." 

69 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

"Gulden!"  cried  Joan,  with  a  start. 

Her  exclamation  and  tone  made  Kells  regard  her 
attentively. 

"You've  heard  of  him?  He's  the  toughest  nut — 
on  this  border.  ...  I  never  saw  his  like.  You  won't 
be  safe.  I'm  so  helpless.  .  .  .  What  to  say — to  tell 
him! .  .  .  Joan,  if  I  should  happen  to  croak — you  want 
to  get  away  quick — or  shoot  yourself." 

How  strange  to  hear  this  bandit  warn  her  of  peril 
the  like  of  which  she  had  encountered  through  him! 
Joan  secured  the  gun  and  hid  it  in  a  niche  between 
the  logs.  Then  she  looked  out  again. 

The  riders  were  close  at  hand  now.  The  fore 
most  one,  a  man  of  Herculean  build,  jumped  his 
mount  across  the  brook,  and  leaped  oil  while  he 
hauled  the  horse  to  a  stop.  The  second  rider  came 
close  behind  him;  the  others  approached  leisurely, 
with  the  gait  of  the  pack-animals. 

"Ho,  Kells!"  called  the  big  man.  His  voice  had 
a  loud,  bold,  sonorous  kind  of  ring. 

"Reckon  he's  here  somewheres,"  said  the  other 
man,  presently. 

"Sure.  I  seen  his  hoss.  Jack  ain't  goin'  to  be 
far  from  thet  hoss." 

Then  both  of  them  approached  the  cabin.  Joan 
had  never  before  seen  two  such  striking,  vicious- 
looking,  awesome  men.  The  one  was  huge — so  wide 
and  heavy  and  deep-set  that  he  looked  short — and 
he  resembled  a  gorilla.  The  other  was  tall,  slim, 
with  a  face  as  red  as  flame,  and  an  expression  of 
fierce  keenness.  He  was  stoop-shouldered,  yet  he 
held  his  head  erect  in  a  manner  that  suggested  a 
wolf  scenting  blood. 

70 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

"Some  one  here,  Pearce,"  boomed  the  big  man. 

"Why,  Gul,  if  it  ain't  a  girl!" 

Joan  moved  out  of  the  shadow  of  the  wall  of  the 
cabin,  and  she  pointed  to  the  prostrate  figure  on  the 
blankets. 

"Howdy  boys!"  said  Kells,  wanly. 

Gulden  cursed  in  amaze  while  Pearce  dropped  to 
his  knee  with  an  exclamation  of  concern.  Then  both 
began  to  talk  at  once.  Kells  interrupted  them  by 
lifting  a  weak  hand. 

"No,  I'm  not  going — to  cash,"  he  said.  "I'm 
only  starved — and  in  need  of  stimulants.  Had  my 
back  half  shot  off." 

"Who  plugged  you,  Jack?" 

"Gulden,  it  was  your  side-pardner,  Bill." 

"Bill?"  Gulden's  voice  held  a  queer,  coarse  con 
straint.  Then  he  added,  gruffly,  "Thought  you  and 
him  pulled  together." 

"Well,  we  didn't." 

' '  And — where's — Bill  now  ?"  This  time  Joan  heard 
a  slow,  curious,  cold  note  in  the  heavy  voice,  and  she 
interpreted  it  as  either  doubt  or  deceit. 

"Bill's  dead  and  Halloway,  too,"  replied  Kells. 

Gulden  turned  his  massive,  shaggy  head  in  the 
direction  of  Joan.  She  had  not  the  courage  to  meet 
the  gaze  upon  her.  The  other  man  spoke: 

"Split  over  the  girl,  Jack?" 

"No,"  replied  Kells,  sharply.  "They  tried  to  get 
familiar  with — my  wife — and  I  shot  them  both." 

Joan  felt  a  swift  leap  of  hot  blood  all  over  her  and 
then  a  coldness,  a  sickening,  a  hateful  weakness. 

"Wife!"  ejaculated  Gulden. 

"Your  real  wife,  Jack?"  queried  Pearce. 


THE    BORDER   LEGION 

"Well,  I  guess.  I'll  introduce  you.  .  .  .  Joan,  here 
are  two  of  my  friends — Sam  Gulden  and  Red 
Pearce." 

Gulden  grunted  something. 

"Mrs.  Kells,  I'm  glad  to  meet  you,"  said  Pearce. 

Just  then  the  other  three  men  entered  the  cabin 
and  Joan  took  advantage  of  the  commotion  they 
made  to  get  out  into  the  air.  She  felt  sick,  fright 
ened,  and  yet  terribly  enraged.  She  staggered  a  lit 
tle  as  she  went  out,  and  she  knew  she  was  as  pale 
as  death.  These  visitors  thrust  reality  upon  her 
with  a  cruel  suddenness.  There  was  something  ter 
rible  in  the  mere  presence  of  this  Gulden.  She  had 
not  yet  dared  to  take  a  good  look  at  him.  But  what 
she  felt  was  overwhelming.  She  wanted  to  run. 
Yet  escape  now  was  infinitely  more  of  a  menace  than 
before.  If  she  slipped  away  it  would  be  these  new 
enemies  who  would  pursue  her,  track  her  like  hounds. 
She  understood  why  Kells  had  introduced  her  as 
his  wife.  She  hated  the  idea  with  a  shameful  and 
burning  hate,  but  a  moment's  reflection  taught  her 
that  Kells  had  answered  once  more  to  a  good  in 
stinct.  At  the  moment  he  had  meant  that  to  pro 
tect  her.  And  further  reflection  persuaded  Joan 
that  she  would  be  wise  to  act  naturally  and  to  carry 
out  the  deception  as  far  as  it  was  possible  for  her. 
It  was  her  only  hope.  Her  position  had  again  grown 
perilous.  She  thought  of  the  gun  she  had  secreted, 
and  it  gave  her  strength  to  control  her  agitation  and 
to  return  to  the  cabin  outwardly  calm. 

The  men  had  Kells  half  turned  over  with  the  flesh 
of  his  back  exposed. 

"Aw,  Gul,  it's  whisky  he  needs,"  said  one. 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

"If  you  let  out  any  more  blood  he'll  croak  sure,*' 
protested  another. 

"Look  how  weak  he  is,"  said  Red  Pearce. 

"It's  a  hell  of  a  lot  you  know,"  roared  Gulden. 
"I  served  my  time — but  that's  none  of  your  busi 
ness.  .  .  .  Look  here!  See  that  blue  spot!"  Gulden 
pressed  a  huge  finger  down  upon  the  blue  welt  on 
Kells's  back.  The  bandit  moaned.  "That's  lead- 
that 's  the  bullet,"  declared  Gulden. 

"Wai,  if  you  ain't  correct!"  exclaimed  Pearce. 

Kells  turned  his  head.  "When  you  punched  that 
place — it  made  me  numb  all  over.  Gul,  if  you've 
located  the  bullet,  cut  it  out." 

Joan  did  not  watch  the  operation.  As  she  went 
away  to  the  seat  under  the  balsam  she  heard  a  sharp 
cry  and  then  cheers.  Evidently  the  grim  Gulden 
had  been  both  swift  and  successful. 

Presently  the  men  came  out  of  the  cabin  and  be 
gan  to  attend  to  their  horses  and  the  pack-train. 

Pearce  looked  for  Joan,  and  upon  seeing  her  called 
out,  "Kells  wants  you." 

Joan  found  the  bandit  half  propped  up  against  a 
saddle  with  a  damp  and  pallid  face,  but  an  altogether 
different  look. 

"Joan,  that  bullet  was  pressing  on  my  spine,"  he 
said.  "Now  it's  out,  all  that  deadness  is  gone.  I 
feel  alive.  I'll  get  well,  soon.  .  .  .  Gulden  was  curi 
ous  over  the  bullet.  It's  a  forty-four  caliber,  and 
neither  Bill  Bailey  nor  Hallo  way  used  that  caliber 
of  gun.  Gulden  remembered.  He's  cunning.  Bill 
was  as  near  being  a  friend  to  this  Gulden  as  any 
man  I  know  of.  I  can't  trust  any  of  these  men, 
particularly  Gulden.  You  stay  pretty  close  by  me." 

73 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

"Kells,  you'll  let  me  go  soon — help  me  to  get 
home?"  implored  Joan  in  a  low  voice. 

"Girl,  it'd  never  be  safe  now,"  he  replied. 

"Then  later — soon — when  it  is  safe?" 

"We'll  see.  .  .  .  But  you're — my  wife  now!" 

With  the  latter  words  the  man  subtly  changed. 
Something  of  the  power  she  had  felt  in  him  before 
his  illness  began  again  to  be  manifested.  Joan  di 
vined  that  these  comrades  had  caused  the  difference 
in  him. 

"You  won't  dare — !"  Joan  was  unable  to  con 
clude  her  meaning.  A  tight  band  compressed  her 
breast  and  throat,  and  she  trembled. 

1  *  Will  you  dare  go  out  there  and  tell  them  you're  not 
my  wife?"  he  queried.  His  voice  had  grown  stronger 
and  his  eyes  were  blending  shadows  of  thought. 

Joan  knew  that  she  dared  not.  She  must  choose 
the  lesser  of  two  evils.  "No  man — could  be  such 
a  beast  to  a  woman — after  she'd  saved  his  life," 
she  whispered. 

"I  could  be  anything.  You  had  your  chance.  I 
told  you  to  go.  I  said  if  I  ever  got  well  I'd  be  as 
I  was — before." 

"But  you'd  have  died." 

"That  would  have  been  better  for  you.  .  .  .  Joan, 
I'll  do  this.  Marry  you  honestly  and  leave  the 
country.  I've  gold.  I'm  young.  I  love  you.  I 
intend  to  have  you.  And  I'll  begin  life  over  again. 
What  do  you  say?" 

"Say?    I'd  die  before — I'd  marry  you!"  she  panted. 

"All  right,  Joan  Randle,"  he  replied,  bitterly. 
"For  a  moment  I  saw  a  ghost.  My  old  dead  better 
self!  .  .  .  It's  gone.  .  .  .  And  you  stay  with  me." 


CHAPTER  VII 

A?TER  dark  Kells  had  his  men  build  a  fire  before 
the  open  side  of  the  cabin.  He  lay  propped  up 
on  blankets  and  his  saddle,  while  the  others  lounged 
or  sat  in  a  half-circle  in  the  light,  facing  him. 

Joan  drew  her  blankets  into  a  corner  where  the 
shadows  were  thick  and  she  could  see  without  being 
seen.  She  wondered  how  she  would  ever  sleep  near 
all  these  wild  men — if  she  could  ever  sleep  again. 
Yet  she  seemed  more  curious  and  wakeful  than  fright 
ened.  She  had  no  way  to  explain  it,  but  she  felt  the 
fact  that  her  presence  in  camp  had  a  subtle  influence, 
at  once  restraining  and  exciting.  So  she  looked  out 
upon  the  scene  with  wide-open  eyes. 

And  she  received  more  strongly  than  ever  an  im 
pression  of  wildness.  Even  the  camp-fire  seemed 
to  burn  wildly;  it  did  not  glow  and  sputter  and  pale 
and  brighten  and  sing  like  an  honest  camp-fire.  It 
blazed  in  red,  fierce,  hurried  flames,  wild  to  consume 
the  logs.  It  cast  a  baleful  and  sinister  color  upon  the 
hard  faces  there.  Then  the  blackness  of  the  en 
veloping  night  was  pitchy,  without  any  bold  outline 
of  canon  wall  or  companionship  of  stars.  The 
coyotes  were  out  in  force  and  from  all  around  came 
their  wild,  sharp  barks.  The  wind  rose  and  mourned 
weirdly  through  the  balsams. 

6  ?$ 


THE    BORDER   LEGION 

But  it  was  in  the  men  that  Joan  felt  mostly  that 
element  of  wildness.  Kells  lay  with  his  ghastly  face 
clear  in  the  play  of  the  moving  flares  of  light.  It 
was  an  intelligent,  keen,  strong  face,  but  evil.  Evil 
power  stood  out  in  the  lines,  in  the  strange  eyes, 
stranger  than  ever,  now  in  shadow;  and  it  seemed 
once  more  the  face  of  an  alert,  listening,  implacable 
man,  with  wild  projects  in  mind,  driving  him  to  the 
doom  he  meant  for  others.  Pearce's  red  face  shone 
redder  in  that  ruddy  light.  It  was  hard,  lean,  al 
most  fleshless,  a  red  mask  stretched  over  a  grinning 
skull.  The  one  they  called  Frenchy  was  little,  dark, 
small-featured,  with  piercing  gimlet-like  eyes,  and  a 
mouth  ready  to  gush  forth  hate  and  violence.  The 
next  two  were  not  particularly  individualized  by 
any  striking  aspect,  merely  looking  border  ruffians 
after  the  type  of  Bill  and  Halloway.  But  Gul 
den,  who  sat  at  the  end  of  the  half-circle,  was  an  ob 
ject  that  Joan  could  scarcely  bring  her  gaze  to  study. 
Somehow  her  first  glance  at  him  put  into  her  mind  a 
strange  idea — that  she  was  a  woman  and  therefore 
of  all  creatures  or  things  in  the  world  the  farthest 
removed  from  him.  She  looked  away,  and  found 
her  gaze  returning,  fascinated,  as  if  she  were  a  bird 
and  he  a  snake.  The  man  was  of  huge  frame,  a  giant 
whose  every  move  suggested  the  acme  of  physical 
power.  He  was  an  animal — a  gorilla  with  a  shock 
of  light  instead  of  black  hair,  of  pale  instead  of  black 
skin.  His  features  might  have  been  hewn  and  ham 
mered  out  with  coarse,  dull,  broken  chisels.  And 
upon  his  face,  in  the  lines  and  cords,  in  the  huge 
caverns  where  his  eyes  hid,  and  in  the  huge  gash 
that  held  strong,  white  fangs,  had  been  stamped  by 

76 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

nature  and  by  life  a  terrible  ferocity.  Here  was  a 
man  or  a  monster  in  whose  presence  Joan  felt  that 
she  would  rather  be  dead.  He  did  not  smoke ;  he  did 
not  indulge  in  the  coarse,  good-natured  raillery ;  he  sat 
there  like  a  huge  engine  of  destruction  that  needed 
no  rest,  but  was  forced  to  rest  because  of  weaker 
attachments.  On  the  other  hand,  he  was  not  sullen 
or  brooding.  It  was  that  he  did  not  seem  to  think. 
Kells  had  been  rapidly  gaining  strength  since  the 
extraction  of  the  bullet,  and  it  was  evident  that  his 
interest  was  growing  proportionately.  He  asked 
questions  and  received  most  of  his  replies  from  Red 
Pearce.  Joan  did  not  listen  attentively  at  first, 
but  presently  she  regretted  that  she  had  not.  She 
gathered  that  Kells 's  fame  as  the  master  bandit  of 
the  whole  gold  region  of  Idaho,  Nevada,  and  north 
eastern  California  was  a  fame  that  he  loved  as  much 
as  the  gold  he  stole.  Joan  sensed,  through  the  re 
plies  of  these  men  and  their  attitude  toward  Kells, 
that  his  power  was  supreme.  He  ruled  the  robbers 
and  ruffians  in  his  bands,  and  evidently  they  were 
scattered  from  Bannack  to  Lewiston  and  all  along 
the  border.  He  had  power,  likewise,  over  the  bor 
der  hawks  not  directly  under  his  leadership.  During 
the  weeks  of  his  enforced  stay  in  the  canon  there  had 
been  a  cessation  of  operations — the  nature  of  which 
Joan  merely  guessed — and  a  gradual  accumulation  of 
idle  waiting  men  in  the  main  camp.  Also  she  gath 
ered,  but  vaguely,  that  though  Kells  had  supreme 
power,  the  organization  he  desired  was  yet  far  from 
being  consummated.  He  showed  though tfulness  and 
irritation  by  turns,  and  it  was  the  subject  of  gold 
that  drew  his  intensest  interest. 

77 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

"Reckon  you  figgered  right,  Jack,"  said  Red 
Pearce,  and  paused  as  if  before  a  long  talk,  while 
he  refilled  his  pipe.  "Sooner  or  later  there'll  be 
the  biggest  gold  strike  ever  made  in  the  West. 
Wagon-trains  are  met  every  day  comin'  across  from 
Salt  Lake.  Prospectors  are  workin'  in  hordes  down 
from  Bannack.  All  the  gulches  an'  valleys  in  the 
Bear  Mountains  have  their  camps.  Surface  gold 
everywhere  an'  easy  to  get  where  there's  water. 
But  there's  diggin's  all  over.  No  big  strike  yet. 
It's  bound  to  come  sooner  or  later.  An'  then  when 
the  news  hits  the  main-traveledVoads  an'  reaches  back 
into  the  mountains  there's  goin'  to  be  a  rush  that  '11 
make  '49  an'  '51  look  sick.  What  do  you  say,  Bate?" 

"Shore  will,"  replied  a  grizzled  individual  whom 
Kells  had  called  Bate  Wood.  He  was  not  so  young 
as  his  companions,  more  sober,  less  wild,  and  slower 
of  speech.  "I  saw  both  '49  an'  '51.  Them  was 
days!  But  I'm  agreein'  with  Red.  There  shore  will 
be  hell  on  this  Idaho  border  sooner  or  later.  I've 
been  a  prospector,  though  I  never  hankered  after 
the  hard  work  of  diggin'  gold.  Gold  is  hard  to  dig, 
easy  to  lose,  an'  easy  to  get  from  some  other  feller. 
I  see  the  signs  of  a  comin'  strike  somewhere  in  this 
region.  Mebbe  it's  on  now.  There's  thousands  of 
prospectors  in  twos  an'  threes  an'  groups,  out  in  the 
hills  all  over.  They  ain't  a-goin'  to  tell  when  they 
do  make  a  strike.  But  the  gold  must  be  brought 
out.  An'  gold  is  heavy.  It  ain't  easy  hid.  Thet's 
how  strikes  are  discovered.  I  shore  reckon  thet  this 
year  will  beat  '49  an'  '51.  An'  fer  two  reasons. 
There's  a  steady  stream  of  broken  an'  disappointed 
gold-seekers  back-trailin'  from  California.  There's 

78 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

a  bigger  stream  of  hopeful  an'  crazy  fortune-hunters 
travelin'  in  from  the  East.  Then  there's  the  wim- 
men  an'  gamblers  an'  such  thet  hang  on.  An'  last 
the  men  thet  the  war  is  drivin'  out  here.  Whenever 
an'  wherever  these  streams  meet,  if  there's  a  big  gold 
strike,  there'll  be  the  hellishest  time  the  world  ever 
saw!" 

"Boys,"  said  Kells,  with  a  ring  in  his  weak  voice, 
"it'll  be  a  harvest  for  my  Border  Legion." 

"Per  what?"  queried  Bate  Wood,  curiously. 

All  the  others  except  Gulden  turned  inquiring  and 
interested  faces  toward  the  bandit. 

"The  Border  Legion,"  replied  Kells. 

"An'  what's  that?"  asked  Red  Pearce,  bluntly. 

"Well,  if  the  time's  ripe  for  the  great  gold  fever 
you  say  is  coming,  then  it's  ripe  for  the  greatest 
band  ever  organized.  I'll  organize.  I'll  call  it  the 
Border  Legion." 

"Count  me  in  as  right-hand  pard,"  replied  Red, 
with  enthusiasm. 

"An'  shore  me,  boss,"  added  Bate  Wood. 

The  idea  was  received  vociferously,  at  which 
demonstration  the  giant  Gulden  raised  his  massive 
head  and  asked,  or  rather  growled,  in  a  heavy  voice 
what  the  fuss  was  about.  His  query,  his  roused 
presence,  seemed  to  act  upon  the  others,  even  Kells, 
with  a  strange,  disquieting  or  halting  force,  as  if 
here  was  a  character  or  an  obstacle  to  be  con 
sidered.  After  a  moment  of  silence  Red  Pearce 
explained  the  project. 

"Huh!  Nothing  new  in  that,"  replied  Gulden. 
"I  belonged  to  one  once.  It  was  in  Algiers.  They 
called  it  the  Royal  Legion." 

79 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

1  'Algiers.     What's  thet?"  asked  Bate  Wood. 

"Africa,"  replied  Gulden. 

"Say  Gul,  you've  been  round  some,"  said  Red 
Pearce,  admiringly.  ' '  What  was  the  Royal  Legion  ? ' ' 

"Nothing  but  a  lot  of  devils  from  all  over.  The 
border  there  was  the  last  place.  Every  criminal 
was  safe  from  pursuit." 

"What'd  you  do?" 

"Fought  among  ourselves.  Wasn't  many  in  the 
Legion  when  I  left." 

"Shore  thet  ain't  strange!"  exclaimed  Wood,  sig 
nificantly.  But  his  inference  was  lost  upon  Gulden. 

"I  won't  allow  fighting  in  my  Legion,"  said  Kells, 
coolly.  "I'll  pick  this  band  myself." 

"Thet's  the  secret,"  rejoined  Wood.  "The  right 
fellers.  I've  been  in  all  kinds  of  bands.  Why,  I 
even  was  a  vigilante  in  '51." 

This  elicted  a  laugh  from  his  fellows,  except  the 
wooden-faced  Gulden. 

"How  many  do  we  want?"  asked  Red  Pearce. 

"The  number  doesn't  matter.  But  they  must  be 
men  I  can  trust  and  control.  Then  as  lieutenants 
I'll  need  a  few  young  fellows,  like  you,  Red.  Nervy, 
daring,  cool,  quick  of  wits." 

Red  Pearce  enjoyed  the  praise  bestowed  upon  him 
and  gave  his  shoulders  a  swagger.  "Speakin'  of 
that,  boss,"  he  said,  "reminds  me  of  a  chap  who 
rode  into  Cabin  Gulch  a  few  weeks  ago.  Braced 
right  into  Beard's  place,  where  we  was  all  playin' 
faro,  an'  he  asks  for  Jack  Kells.  Right  off  we  all 
thought  he  was  a  guy  who  had  a  grievance,  an'  some 
of  us  was  for  pluggin'  him.  But  I  kinda  liked  him 
an'  I  cooled  the  gang  down.  Glad  I  did  that.  He 

SP 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

wasn't  wantin'  to  throw  a  gun.  His  intentions  were 
friendly.  Of  course  I  didn't  show  curious  about 
who  or  what  he  was.  Reckoned  he  was  a  young 
feller  who'd  gone  bad  sudden-like  an'  was  huntin' 
friends.  An'  I'm  here  to  say,  boss,  that  he  was 
wild." 

"What's  his  name?"  asked  Kells. 

"Jim  Cleve,  he  said,"  replied  Pearce. 

Joan  Randle,  hidden  back  in  the  shadows,  for 
gotten  or  ignored  by  this  bandit  group,  heard  the 
name  Jim  Cleve  with  pain  and  fear,  but  not  amaze. 
From  the  moment  Pearce  began  his  speech  she  had 
been  prepared  for  the  revelation  of  her  runaway 
lover's  name.  She  trembled,  and  grew  a  little  sick; 
Jim  had  made  no  idle  threat.  What  would  she  have 
given  to  live  over  again  the  moment  that  had 
alienated  him? 

' '  Jim  Cleve, ' '  mused  Kells.  ' '  Never  heard  of  him. 
And  I  never  forget  a  name  or  a  face.  What's  he 
like?" 

"Clean,  rangy  chap,  big,  but  not  too  big,"  replied 
Pearce.  "All  muscle.  Not  more  'n  twenty-three. 
Hard  rider,  hard  fighter,  hard  gambler  an'  drinker 
— reckless  as  hell.  If  only  you  can  steady  him, 
boss!  Ask  Bate  what  he  thinks." 

"Well!"  exclaimed  Kells  in  surprise.  "Strangers 
are  every-day  occurrences  on  this  border.  But  I 
never  knew  one  to  impress  you  fellows  as  this  Cleve. 
.  .  .  Bate,  what  do  you  say?  What's  this  Cleve  done? 
You're  an  old  head.  Talk  sense,  now." 

"Done?"  echoed  Wood,  scratching  his  grizzled 
head.  "What  in  the  hell  'ain't  he  done?  ...  He  rode 
in  brazener  than  any  feller  thet  ever  stacked  up 

Si 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

against  this  outfit.  An'  straight-ofl  he  wins  the  outfit. 
I  don't  know  how  he  done  it.  Mebbe  it  was  because 
you  seen  he  didn't  care  fer  any  thin'  or  anybody  on 
earth.  He  stirred  us  up.  He  won  all  the  money 
we  had  in  camp — broke  most  of  us — an'  give  it  all 
back.  He  drank  more'n  the  whole  oufit,  yet  didn't 
get  drunk.  He  threw  his  gun  on  Beady  Jones  fer 
cheatin'  an'  then  on  Beady's  pard,  Chick  Williams. 
Didn't  shoot  to  kill — jest  winged  'em.  But  say,  he's 
the  quickest  an'  smoothest  hand  to  throw  a  gun  thet 
ever  hit  this  border.  Don't  overlook  thet.  .  .  . 
Kells,  this  Jim  Cleve's  a  great  youngster  goin'  bad 
quick.  An'  I'm  here  to  add  thet  he'll  take  some 
company  along." 

"Bate,  you  forgot  to  tell  how  he  handled  Luce," 
said  Red  Pearce.  "You  was  there.  I  wasn't.  Tell 
Kells  that." 

"Luce.  I  know  the  man.  Go  ahead,  Bate,"  re 
sponded  Kells. 

"Mebbe  it  ain't  any  recommendation  fer  said 
Jim  Cleve,"  replied  Wood.  "Though  it  did  sorta 
warm  me  to  him.  .  .  .  Boss,  of  course,  you  recollect 
thet  little  Brander  girl  over  at  Bear  Lake  village. 
She's  old  Brander's  girl — worked  in  his  store  there. 
I've  seen  you  talk  sweet  to  her  myself.  Wai,  it 
seems  the  ole  man  an'  some  of  his  boys  took  to 
prospectin'  an'  fetched  the  girl  along.  Thet's  how 
I  understood  it.  Luce  came  bracin'  in  over  at 
Cabin  Gulch  one  day.  As  usual,  we  was  drinkin'  an* 
playin'.  But  young  Cleve  wasn't  doin'  neither.  He 
had  a  strange,  moody  spell  thet  day,  as  I  recollect. 
Luce  sprung  a  job  on  us.  We  never  worked  with 
him  or  his  outfit,  but  mebbe — you  can't  tell  what  'd 

82 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

come  off  if  it  hadn't  been  fer  Cleve.  Luce  had  a  job 
put  up  to  ride  down  where  ole  Brander  was  washin' 
fer  gold,  take  what  he  had — an1  the  girl.  Fact  was 
the  gold  was  only  incidental.  When  somebody  cor 
nered  Luce  he  couldn't  swear  there  was  gold  worth 
goin'  after.  An'  about  then  Jim  Cleve  woke  up. 
He  cussed  Luce  somethin'  fearful.  An'  when  Luce 
went  fer  his  gun,  natural-like,  why  this  Jim  Cleve 
took  it  away  from  him.  An'  then  he  jumped  Luce. 
He  knocked  an'  threw  him  around  an'  he  near  beat 
him  to  death  before  we  could  interfere.  Luce  was 
shore  near  dead.  All  battered  up — broken  bones — 
an'  what-all  I  can't  say.  We  put  him  to  bed  an' 
he's  there  yet,  an'  he'll  never  be  the  man  he  was." 

A  significant  silence  fell  upon  the  group  at  the 
conclusion  of  Wood's  narrative.  Wood  had  liked  the 
telling,  and  it  had  made  his  listeners  thoughtful.  All 
at  once  the  pale  face  of  Kells  turned  slightly  toward 
Gulden. 

"Gulden,  did  you  hear  that?"  asked  Kells. 

"Yes,"  replied  the  man. 

"What  do  you  think  about  this  Jim  Cleve — and 
the  job  he  prevented?" 

"Never  saw  Cleve.  I'll  look  him  up  when  we 
get  back  to  camp.  Then  I'll  go  after  the  Brander 
girl." 

How  strangely  his  brutal  assurance  marked  a  line 
between  him  and  his  companions !  There  was  some 
thing  wrong,  something  perverse  in  this  Gulden. 
Had  Kells  meant  to  bring  that  point  out  or  to  get 
an  impression  of  Cleve  ? 

Joan  could  not  decide.  She  divined  that  there  was 
antagonism  between  Gulden  and  all  the  others. 

S3 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

And  there  was  something  else,  vague  and  intangible, 
that  might  have  been  fear.  Apparently  Gulden  was 
a  criminal  for  the  sake  of  crime.  Joan  regarded  him 
with  a  growing  terror — augmented  the  more  because 
he  alone  kept  eyes  upon  the  corner  where  she  was 
hidden — and  she  felt  that  compared  with  him  the 
others,  even  Kells,  of  whose  cold  villainy  she  was 
assured,  were  but  insignificant  men  of  evil.  She 
covered  her  head  with  a  blanket  to  shut  out  sight 
of  that  shaggy,  massive  head  and  the  great,  dark 
caves  of  eyes. 

Thereupon  Joan  did  not  see  or  hear  any  more  of 
the  bandits.  Evidently  the  conversation  died  down, 
or  she,  in  the  absorption  of  new  thoughts,  no  longer 
heard.  She  relaxed,  and  suddenly  seemed  to  quiver 
all  over  with  the  name  she  whispered  to  herself. 
"Jim!  Jim!  Jim!  Oh,  Jim!"  And  the  last  whisper 
was  an  inward  sob.  What  he  had  done  was  terrible. 
It  tortured  her.  She  had  not  believed  it  in  him. 
Yet,  now  she  thought,  how  like  him!  All  for  her — 
in  despair  and  spite — he  had  ruined  himself.  He 
would  be  killed  out  there  in  some  drunken  brawl, 
or,  still  worse,  he  would  become  a  member  of  this 
bandit  crew  and  drift  into  crime.  That  was  the 
great  blow  to  Joan — that  the  curse  she  had  put 
upon  him.  How  silly,  false,  and  vain  had  been  her 
coquetry,  her  in  difference !  She  loved  Jim  Cleve. 
She  had  not  known  that  when  she  started  out  to 
trail  him,  to  fetch  him  back,  but  she  knew  it  now. 
She  ought  to  have  known  before. 

The  situation  she  had  foreseen  loomed  dark  and 
monstrous  and  terrible  in  prospect.  Just  to  think 
of  it  made  her  body  creep  and  shudder  with  cold 

84 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

terror.  Yet  there  was  that  strange,  inward,  thrill 
ing  burn  round  her  heart.  Somewhere  and  soon  she 
was  coming  face  to  face  with  this  changed  Jim  Cleve 
— this  boy  who  had  become  a  reckless  devil.  What 
would  he  do?  What  could  she  do?  Might  he  not 
despise  her,  scorn  her,  curse  her,  taking  her  at  Kells's 
word,  the  wife  of  a  bandit  ?  But  no !  he  would  divine 
the  truth  in  the  flash  of  an  eye.  And  then!  She 
could  not  think  what  might  happen,  but  it  must 
mean  blood — death.  If  he  escaped  Kells,  how  could 
he  ever  escape  this  Gulden — this  huge  vulture  of 
prey? 

Still,  with  the  horror  thick  upon  her,  Joan  could 
not  wholly  give  up.  The  moment  Jim  Cleve 's  name 
and  his  ruin  burst  upon  her  ears,  in  the  gossip  of 
these  bandits,  she  had  become  another  girl — a  girl 
wholly  become  a  woman,  and  one  with  a  driving 
passion  to  save  if  it  cost  her  life.  She  lost  her  fear 
of  Kells,  of  the  others,  of  all  except  Gulden.  He 
was  not  human,  and  instinctively  she  knew  she 
could  do  nothing  with  him.  She  might  influence 
the  others,  but  never  Gulden. 

The  torment  in  her  brain  eased  then,  and  gradually 
she  quieted  down,  with  only  a  pang  and  a  weight 
in  her  breast.  The  past  seemed  far  away.  The 
present  was  nothing.  Only  the  future,  that  con 
tained  Jim  Cleve,  mattered  to  her.  She  would  not 
have  left  the  clutches  of  Kells,  if  at  that  moment 
she  could  have  walked  forth  free  and  safe.  She  was 
going  on  to  Cabin  Gulch.  And  that  thought  was 
the  last  one  in  her  weary  mind  as  she  dropped  to 
sleep. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

IN  three  days — during  which  time  Joan  attended 
Kells  as  faithfully  as  if  she  were  indeed  his  wife — 
he  thought  that  he  had  gained  sufficiently  to  under 
take  the  journey  to  the  main  camp,  Cabin  Gulch. 
He  was  eager  to  get  back  there  and  imperious  in  his 
overruling  of  any  opposition.  The  men  could  take 
turns  at  propping  him  in  a  saddle.  So  on  the  morn 
ing  of  the  fourth  day  they  packed  for  the  ride. 

During  these  few  days  Joan  had  verified  her  sus 
picion  that  Kells  had  two  sides  to  his  character; 
or  it  seemed,  rather,  that  her  presence  developed  a 
latent  or  a  long-dead  side.  When  she  was  with  him, 
thereby  distracting  his  attention,  he  was  entirely 
different  from  what  he  was  when  his  men  surrounded 
him.  Apparently  he  had  no  knowledge  of  this.  He 
showed  surprise  and  gratitude  at  Joan's  kindness, 
though  never  pity  or  compassion  for  her.  That  he 
had  become  infatuated  with  her  Joan  could  no 
longer  doubt.  His  strange  eyes  followed  her;  there 
was  a  dreamy  light  in  them;  he  was  mostly  silent 
with  her. 

Before  those  few  days  had  come  to  an  end  he  had 
developed  two  things — a  reluctance  to  let  Joan  leave 
his  sight  and  an  intolerance  of  the  presence  of  the 
other  men,  particularly  Gulden.  Always  Joan  felt 

86 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

the  eyes  of  these  men  upon  her,  mostly  in  unob 
trusive  glances,  except  Gulden's.  The  giant  studied 
her  with  slow,  cavernous  stare,  without  curiosity  or 
speculation  or  admiration.  Evidently  a  woman  was 
a  new  and  strange  creature  to  him  and  he  was  ex 
periencing  unfamiliar  sensations.  Whenever  Joan 
accidentally  met  his  gaze — for  she  avoided  it  as  much 
as  possible — she  shuddered  with  a  sick  memory  of 
a  story  she  had  heard — how  a  huge  and  ferocious 
gorilla  had  stolen  into  an  African  village  and  run  off 
with  a  white  woman.  She  could  not  shake  the 
memory.  And  it  was  this  that  made  her  kinder 
to  Kells  than  otherwise  would  have  been  possible. 
All  Joan's  faculties  sharpened  in  this  period.  She 
felt  her  own  development — the  beginning  of  a  bitter 
and  hard  education — an  instinctive  assimilation  of 
all  that  nature  taught  its  wild  people  and  creatures, 
the  first  thing  in  elemental  life — self-preservation. 
Parallel  in  her  heart  and  mind  ran  a  hopeless  despair 
and  a  driving,  unquenchable  spirit.  The  former  was 
fear,  the  latter  love.  She  believed  beyond  a  doubt 
that  she  had  doomed  herself  along  with  Jim  Cleve; 
she  felt  that  she  had  the  courage,  the  power,  the  love 
to  save  him,  if  not  herself.  And  the  reason  that  she 
did  not  falter  and  fail  in  this  terrible  situation  was 
because  her  despair,  great  as  it  was,  did  not  equal 
her  love. 

That  morning,  before  being  lifted  upon  his  horse, 
Kells  buckled  on  his  gun-belt.  The  sheath  and  full 
round  of  shells  and  the  gun  made  this  belt  a  burden 
for  a  weak  man.  And  so  Red  Pearce  insisted.  But 
Kells  laughed  in  his  face.  The  men,  always  except- 

87 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

ing  Gulden,  were  unfailing  in  kindness  and  care. 
Apparently  they  would  have  fought  for  Kells  to  the 
death.  They  were  simple  and  direct  in  their  rough 
feelings.  But  in  Kells,  Joan  thought,  was  a  char 
acter  who  was  a  product  of  this  border  wildness,  yet 
one  who  could  stand  aloof  from  himself  and  see  the 
possibilities,  the  unexpected,  the  meaning  of  that 
life.  Kells  knew  that  a  man  and  yet  another  might 
show  kindness  and  faithfulness  one  moment,  but  the 
very  next,  out  of  a  manhood  retrograded  to  the  sav 
age,  out  of  the  circumstance  or  chance,  might  re 
spond  to  a  primitive  force  far  sundered  from  thought 
or  reason,  and  rise  to  unbridled  action.  Joan  di 
vined  that  Kells  buckled  on  his  gun  to  be  ready  to 
protect  her.  But  his  men  never  dreamed  his  mo 
tive.  Kells  was  a  strong,  bad  man  set  among  men 
like  him,  yet  he  was  infinitely  different  because  he 
had  brains. 

On  the  start  of  the  journey  Joan  was  instructed 
to  ride  before  Kells  and  Pearce,  who  supported  the 
leader  in  his  saddle.  The  pack-drivers  and  Bate 
Wood  and  Frenchy  rode  ahead;  Gulden  held  to  the 
rear.  And  this  order  was  preserved  till  noon,  when 
the  cavalcade  halted  for  a  rest  in  a  shady,  grassy, 
and  well-watered  nook.  Kells  was  haggard,  and  his 
brow  wet  with  clammy  dew,  and  lined  with  pain. 
Yet  he  was  cheerful  and  patient.  Still  he  hurried 
the  men  through  their  tasks. 

In  an  hour  the  afternoon  travel  was  begun.  The 
canon  and  its  surroundings  grew  more  rugged  and  of 
larger  dimensions.  Yet  the  trail  appeared  to  get 
broader  and  better  all  the  time.  Joan  noticed  in 
tersecting  trails,  running  down  from  side  canons 

88 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

and  gulches.  The  descent  was  gradual,  and  scarcely 
evident  in  any  way  except  in  the  running  water  and 
warmer  air. 

Kells  tired  before  the  middle  of  the  afternoon, 
and  he  would  have  fallen  from  his  saddle  but  for  the 
support  of  his  fellows.  One  by  one  they  held  him 
up.  And  it  was  not  easy  work  to  ride  alongside,  hold 
ing  him  up.  Joan  observed  that  Gulden  did  not  offer 
his  services.  He  seemed  a  part  of  this  gang,  yet  not 
of  it.  Joan  never  lost  a  feeling  of  his  presence  be 
hind  her,  and  from  time  to  time,  when  he  rode  closer, 
the  feeling  grew  stronger.  Toward  the  close  of  that 
afternoon  she  became  aware  of  Gulden's  strange  at 
tention.  And  when  a  halt  was  made  for  camp  she 
dreaded  something  nameless. 

This  halt  occurred  early,  before  sunset,  and  had 
been  necessitated  by  the  fact  that  Kells  was  fainting. 
They  laid  him  out  on  blankets,  with  his  head  in  his 
saddle.  Joan  tended  him,  and  he  recovered  some 
what,  though  he  lacked  the  usual  keenness. 

It  was  a  busy  hour  with  saddles,  packs,  horses, 
with  wood  to  cut  and  fire  to  build  and  meal  to 
cook.  Kells  drank  thirstily,  but  refused  food. 

"Joan,"  he  whispered,  at  an  opportune  moment, 
"I'm  only  tired — dead  for  sleep.  You  stay  beside 
me.  Wake  me  quick — if  you  want  to!" 

He  closed  his  eyes  wearily,  without  explaining,  and 
soon  slumbered.  Joan  did  not  choose  to  allow  these 
men  to  see  that  she  feared  them  or  distrusted  them 
or  disliked  them.  She  ate  with  them  beside  the  fire. 
And  this  was  their  first  opportunity  to  be  close  to 
her.  The  fact  had  an  immediate  and  singular  in 
fluence.  Joan  had  no  vanity,  though  she  knew  she 

89 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

was  handsome.  She  forced  herself  to  be  pleasant, 
agreeable,  even  sweet.  Their  response  was  instant 
and  growing.  At  first  they  were  bold,  then  familiar 
and  coarse.  For  years  she  had  been  used  to  rough 
men  of  the  camps.  These,  however,  were  different, 
and  their  jokes  and  suggestions  had  no  effect  be 
cause  they  were  beyond  her.  And  when  this  be 
came  manifest  to  them  that  aspect  of  their  relation 
to  her  changed.  She  grasped  the  fact  intuitively, 
and  then  she  verified  it  by  proof.  Her  heart  beat 
strong  and  high.  If  she  could  hide  her  hate,  her 
fear,  her  abhorrence,  she  could  influence  these  wild 
men.  But  it  all  depended  upon  her  charm,  her 
strangeness,  her  femininity.  Insensibly  they  had  been 
influenced,  and  it  proved  that  in  the  worst  of  men 
there  yet  survived  some  good.  Gulden  alone  pre 
sented  a  contrast  and  a  problem.  He  appeared 
aware  of  her  presence  while  he  sat  there  eating  like 
a  wolf,  but  it  was  as  if  she  were  only  an  object. 
The  man  watched  as  might  have  an  animal. 

Her  experience  at  the  camp-fire  meal  inclined  her 
to  the  belief  that,  if  there  were  such  a  possibility  as 
her  being  safe  at  all,  it  would  be  owing  to  an  uncon 
scious  and  friendly  attitude  toward  the  companions 
she  had  been  forced  to  accept.  Those  men  were 
pleased,  stirred  at  being  in  her  vicinity.  Joan  came 
to  a  melancholy  and  fearful  cognizance  of  her  at 
traction.  While  at  home  she  seldom  had  borne  upon 
her  a  reality — that  she  was  a  woman.  Her  place,  her 
person  were  merely  natural.  Here  it  was  all  dif 
ferent.  To  these  wild  men,  developed  by  loneliness, 
fierce-blooded,  with  pulses  like  whips,  a  woman  was. 
something  that  thrilled,  charmed,  soothed,  that  in- 

90 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

cited  a  strange,  insatiable,  inexplicable  hunger  for  very 
sight  of  her.  They  did  not  realize  it,  but  Joan  did. 

Presently  Joan  finished  her  supper  and  said:  "I'll 
go  hobble  my  horse.  He  strays,  sometimes." 

"Shore  I'll  go,  miss,"  said  Bate  Wood.  He  had 
never  called  her  Mrs.  Kells,  but  Joan  believed  he 
had  not  thought  of  the  significance.  Hardened  old 
ruffian  that  he  was,  Joan  regarded  him  as  the  best 
of  a  bad  lot.  He  had  lived  long,  and  some  of  his 
life  had  not  been  bad. 

"Let  me  go,"  added  Pearce. 

"No,  thanks.     I'll  go  myself,"  she  replied. 

She  took  the  rope  hobble  off  her  saddle  and  boldly 
swung  down  the  trail.  Suddenly  she  heard  two  or 
more  of  the  men  speak  at  once,  and  then,  low  and 
clear:  "Gulden,  where 'n  hell  are  you  goin'?"  This 
was  Red  Pearce's  voice. 

Joan  glanced  back.  Gulden  had  started  down  the 
trail  after  her.  Her  heart  quaked,  her  knees  shook, 
and  she  was  ready  to  run  back.  Gulden  halted, 
then  turned  away,  growling.  He  acted  as  if  caught 
in  something  surprising  to  himself. 

"We're  on  to  you,  Gulden,"  continued  Pearce, 
deliberately.  "Be  careful  or  we'll  put  Kells  on." 

A  booming,  angry  curse  was  the  response.  The 
men  grouped  closer  and  a  loud  altercation  followed. 
Joan  almost  ran  down  the  trail  and  heard  no  more. 
If  any  one  of  them  had  started  her  way  now  she 
would  have  plunged  into  the  thickets  like  a  frightened 
deer.  Evidently,  however,  they  meant  to  let  her 
alone.  Joan  found  her  horse,  and  before  hobbling 
him  she  was  assailed  by  a  temptation  to  mount  him 
and  ride  away.  This  she  did  not  want  to  do  and 
7  9i 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

would  not  do  under  any  circumstances;  still,  she 
could  not  prevent  the  natural  instinctive  impulses 
of  a  woman. 

She  crossed  to  the  other  side  of  the  brook  and  re- 
Burned  toward  camp  under  the  spruce  and  balsam 
I  trees.  She  did  not  hurry.  It  was  good  to  be  alone, 
out  of  sight  of  those  violent  men,  away  from  that 
constant  wearing  physical  proof  of  catastrophe. 
Nevertheless,  she  did  not  feel  free  or  safe  for  a  mo 
ment;  she  peered  fearfully  into  the  shadows  of  the 
rocks  and  trees;  and  presently  it  was  a  relief  to  get 
back  to  the  side  of  the  sleeping  Kells.  He  lay  in  a 
deep  slumber  of  exhaustion.  She  arranged  her  own 
saddle  and  blankets  near  him,  and  prepared  to  meet 
the  night  as  best  she  could.  Instinctively  she  took 
a  position  where  in  one  swift  snatch  she  could  get 
possession  of  Kells's  gun. 

it  was  about  time  of  sunset,  warm  and  still  in  the 
canon,  with  rosy  lights  fading  upon  the  peaks.  The 
men  were  all  busy  with  one  thing  and  another. 
Strange  it  was  to  see  that  Gulden,  who  Joan  thought 
might  be  a  shirker,  did  twice  the  work  of  any  man, 
especially  the  heavy  work.  He  seemed  to  enjoy 
carrying  a  log  that  would  have  overweighted  two 
ordinary  men.  He  was  so  huge,  so  active,  so  power 
ful  that  it  was  fascinating  to  watch  him.  They  built 
the  camp-fire  for  the  night  uncomfortably  near 
Joan's  position;  however,  remembering  how  cold  the 
air  would  become  later,  she  made  no  objection.  Twi 
light  set  in  and  the  men,  through  for  the  day,  gath 
ered  near  the  fire. 

Then  Joan  was  not  long  in  discovering  that  the 
situation  had  begun  to  impinge  upon  the  feelings  of 

92 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

each  of  these  men.  They  looked  at  her  differently. 
Some  of  them  invented  pretexts  to  approach  her,  to 
ask  something,  to  offer  service — anything  to  get  near 
her.  A  personal  and  individual  note  had  been  in 
jected  into  the  attitude  of  each.  Intuitively  Joan 
guessed  that  Gulden's  arising  to  follow  her  had 
turned  their  eyes  inward.  Gulden  remained  silent 
and  inactive  at  the  edge  of  the  camp-fire  circle  of 
light,  which  flickered  fitfully  around  him,  making 
him  seem  a  huge,  gloomy  ape  of  a  man.  So  far  as 
Joan  could  tell,  Gulden  never  cast  his  eyes  in  her 
direction.  That  was  a  difference  which  left  cause 
for  reflection.  Had  that  hulk  of  brawn  and  bone 
begun  to  think?  Bate  Wood's  overtures  to  Joan 
were  rough,  but  inexplicable  to  her  because  she 
dared  not  wholly  trust  him. 

"An'  shore,  miss,"  he  had  concluded,  in  a  hoarse 
whisper,  "we-all  know  you  ain't  Kells's  wife.  Thet 
bandit  wouldn't  marry  no  woman.  He's  a  woman- 
hater.  He  was  famous  fer  thet  over  in  California. 
He's  run  off  with  you — kidnapped  you,  thet's  shore. 
.  .  .  An'  Gulden  swears  he  shot  his  own  men  an'  was 
in  turn  shot  by  you.  Thet  bullet-hole  in  his  back 
was  full  of  powder.  There's  liable  to  be  a  muss-up 
any  time.  .  .  .  Shore,  miss,  you'd  better  sneak  off 
with  me  to-night  when  they're  all  asleep.  I'll  git 
gnib  an'  hosses,  an'  take  you  off  to  some  prospector's 
camp.  Then  you  can  git  home." 

Joan  only  shook  her  head.  Even  if  she  could  have 
felt  trust  in  Wood — and  she  was  of  half  a  mind  to 
believe  him — it  was  too  late.  Whatever  befell  her 
mattered  little  if  in  suffering  it  she  could  save  Jim 
Cleve  from  the  ruin  she  had  wrought. 

93 


THE    BORDER   LEGION 

Since  this  wild  experience  of  Joan's  had  begun 
she  had  been  sick  so  many  times  with  raw  and  naked 
emotions  hitherto  unknown  to  her,  that  she  believed 
she  could  not  feel  another  new  fear  or  torture.  But 
these  strange  sensations  grew  by  what  they  had  been 
fed  upon. 

The  man  called  Frenchy  was  audacious,  persist 
ent,  smiling,  amorous-eyed,  and  rudely  gallant.  He 
cared  no  more  for  his  companions  than  if  they  had 
not  been  there.  He  vied  with  Pearce  in  his  atten 
tion,  and  the  two  of  them  discomfited  the  others. 
The  situation  might  have  been  amusing  had  it  not 
been  so  terrible.  Always  the  portent  was  a  shadow 
behind  their  interest  and  amiability  and  jealousy. 
Except  for  that  one  abrupt  and  sinister  move  of 
Gulden's — that  of  a  natural  man  beyond  deceit — 
there  was  no  word,  no  look,  no  act  at  which  Joan 
could  have  been  offended.  They  were  joking,  sar 
castic,  ironical,  and  sullen  in  their  relation  to  each 
other;  but  to  Joan  each  one  presented  what  was 
naturally  or  what  he  considered  his  kindest  and 
most  friendly  front.  A  young  and  attractive  woman 
had  dropped  into  the  camp  of  lonely  wild  men ;  and 
in  their  wild  hearts  was  a  rebirth  of  egotism,  vanity, 
hunger  for  notice.  They  seemed  as  foolish  as  a  lot 
of  cock  grouse  preening  themselves  and  parading  be 
fore  a  single  female.  Surely  in  some  heart  was  born 
real  brotherhood  for  a  helpless  girl  in  peril.  In 
evitably  in  some  of  them  would  burst  a  flame  of 
passion  as  it  had  in  Kells. 

Between  this  amiable  contest  for  Joan's  glances 
and  replies,  with  its  possibility  of  latent  good  to  her, 
and  the  dark,  lurking,  unspoken  meaning,  such  as 

94 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

lay  in  Gulden's  brooding,  Joan  found  another  new 
and  sickening  torture. 

"Say,  Frenchy,  you're  no  lady's  man,"  declared 
Red  Pearce,  "an'  you,  Bate,  you're  too  old.  Move 
— pass  by — sashay!"  Pearce,  good-naturedly,  but 
deliberately,  pushed  the  two  men  back. 

"Shore  she's  Kells's  lady,  ain't  she?"  drawled 
Wood.  "Ain't  you-all  forgettin'  thet?" 

"Kells  is  asleep  or  dead,"  replied  Pearce,  and  he 
succeeded  in  getting  the  field  to  himself. 

"Where'd  you  meet  Kells,  anyway?"  he  asked 
Joan,  with  his  red  face  bending  near  hers. 

Joan  had  her  part  to  play.  It  was  difficult,  be 
cause  she  divined  Pearce's  curiosity  held  a  trap  to 
catch  her  in  a  falsehood.  He  knew — they  all  knew 
she  was  not  Kells's  wife.  But  if  she  were  a  prisoner 
she  seemed  a  willing  and  contented  one.  The  query 
that  breathed  in  Pearce's  presence  was  how  was  he 
to  reconcile  the  fact  of  her  submission  with  what 
he  and  his  comrades  had  potently  felt  as  her  good 
ness? 

"That  doesn't  concern  anybody,"  replied  Joan. 

"Reckon  not,"  said  Pearce.  Then  he  leaned 
nearer  with  intense  face.  "What  I  want  to  know — 
is  Gulden  right?  Did  you  shoot  Kells?" 

In  the  dusk  Joan  reached  back  and  clasped  Kells's 
hand. 

For  a  man  as  weak  and  weary  as  he  had  been,  it 
was  remarkable  how  quickly  a  touch  awakened  him. 
He  lifted  his  head. 

"Hello!     Who's  that?"  he  called  out,  sharply. 

Pearce  rose  guardedly,  startled,  but  not  confused. 
"It's  only  me,  boss,"  he  replied.  "I  was  about  to 

95 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

turn  in,  an'  wanted  to  know  how  you  are — if  I  could 
do  any  thin'." 

"I'm  all  right,  Red,"  replied  Kells,  coolly.  " Clear 
out  and  let  me  alone.  All  of  you." 

Pearce  moved  away  with  an  amiable  good-night 
and  joined  the  others  at  the  camp-fire.  Presently 
they  sought  their  blankets,  leaving  Gulden  hunching 
there  silent  in  the  gloom. 

"Joan,  why  did  you  wake  me?"  whispered  Kells. 

"Pearce  asked  me  if  I  shot  you,"  replied  Joan. 
"I  woke  you  instead  of  answering  him." 

"He  did!"  exclaimed  Kells  under  his  breath. 
Then  he  laughed.  "Can't  fool  that  gang.  I  guess 
it  doesn't  matter.  Maybe  it  'd  be  well  if  they  knew 
you  shot  me." 

He  appeared  thoughtful,  and  lay  there  with  the 
fading  flare  of  the  fire  on  his  pale  face.  But  he  did 
not  speak  again.  Presently  he  fell  asleep. 

Joan  leaned  back,  within  reach  of  him,  with  her 
head  in  her  saddle,  and  pulling  a  blanket  up  over  her, 
relaxed  her  limbs  to  rest.  Sleep  seemed  the  farthest 
thing  from  her.  She  wondered  that  she  dared  to 
think  of  it.  The  night  had  grown  chilly;  the  wind 
was  sweeping  with  low  roar  through  the  balsams; 
the  fire  burned  dull  and  red.  Joan  watched  the 
black,  shapeless  hulk  that  she  knew  to  be  Gulden. 
For  a  long  time  he  remained  motionless.  By  and 
by  he  moved,  approached  the  fire,  stood  one  moment 
in  the  dying  ruddy  glow,  his  great  breadth  and  bulk 
magnified,  with  all  about  him  vague  and  shadowy, 
but  the  more  sinister  for  that.  The  cavernous  eyes 
were  only  black  spaces  in  that  vast  face,  yet  Joan 
saw  them  upon  her.  He  lay  down  then  among  the 

96 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

other  men  and  soon  his  deep  and  heavy  breathing 
denoted  the  tranquil  slumber  of  an  ox. 

For  hours  through  changing  shadows  and  starlight 
Joan  lay  awake,  while  a  thousand  thoughts  besieged 
her,  all  centering  round  that  vital  and  compelling 
one  of  Jim  Cleve. 

Only  upon  awakening,  with  the  sun  in  her  face,  did 
Joan  realize  that  she  had  actually  slept. 

The  camp  was  bustling  with  activity.  The  horses 
were  in,  fresh  and  quarrelsome,  with  ears  laid  back. 
Kells  was  sitting  upon  a  rock  near  the  fire  with  a  cup 
of  coffee  in  his  hand.  He  was  looking  better.  When 
he  greeted  Joan  his  voice  sounded  stronger.  She 
walked  by  Pearce  and  Frenchy  and  Gulden  on  her 
way  to  the  brook,  but  they  took  no  notice  of  her. 
Bate  Wood,  however,  touched  his  sombrero  and 
said:  "Mornin',  miss."  Joan  wondered  if  her 
memory  of  the  preceding  night  were  only  a  bad 
dream.  There  was  a  different  atmosphere  by  day 
light,  and  it  was  dominated  by  Kells.  Presently 
she  returned  to  camp  refreshed  and  hungry.  Gulden 
was  throwing  a  pack,  which  action  he  performed  with 
ease  and  dexterity.  Pearce  was  cinching  her  saddle. 
Kells  was  talking,  more  like  his  old  self  than  at  any 
time  since  his  injury. 

Soon  they  were  on  the  trail.  For  Joan  time  always 
passed  swiftly  on  horseback.  Movement  and  chang 
ing  scene  were  pleasurable  to  her.  The  passing  of 
time  now  held  a  strange  expectancy,  a  mingled  fear 
and  hope  and  pain,  for  at  the  end  of  this  trail  was 
Jim  Cleve.  In  other  days  she  had  flouted  him, 
made  fun  of  him,  dominated  him,  everything  except 

97 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

loved  and  feared  him.  And  now  she  was  assured 
of  her  love  and  almost  convinced  of  her  fear.  The 
reputation  these  wild  bandits  gave  Jim  was  astound 
ing  and  inexplicable  to  Joan.  She  rode  the  miles 
thinking  of  Jim,  dreading  to  meet  him,  longing  to 
see  him,  praying  and  planning  for  him. 

About  noon  the  cavalcade  rode  out  of  the  mouth 
of  a  canon  into  a  wide  valley,  surrounded  by  high, 
rounded  foot-hills.  Horses  and  cattle  were  grazing 
on  the  green  levels.  A  wide,  shallow,  noisy  stream 
split  the  valley.  Joan  could  tell  from  the  tracks  at 
the  crossing  that  this  place,  whatever  and  wherever 
it  was,  saw  considerable  travel;  and  she  concluded 
the  main  rendezvous  of  the  bandits  was  close  at 
hand. 

The  pack-drivers  led  across  the  stream  and  the 
valley  to  enter  an  intersecting  ravine.  It  was  nar 
row,  rough-sided,  and  floored,  but  the  trail  was  good. 
Presently  it  opened  out  into  a  beautiful  V-shaped 
gulch,  very  different  from  the  high-walled,  shut-in 
canons.  It  had  a  level  floor,  through  which  a  brook 
flowed,  and  clumps  of  spruce  and  pine,  with  here  and 
there  a  giant  balsam.  Huge  patches  of  wild  flowers 
gave  rosy  color  to  the  grassy  slopes.  At  the  upper 
end  of  this  gulch  Joan  saw  a  number  of  widely 
separated  cabins.  This  place,  then,  was  Cabin 
Gulch. 

Upon  reaching  the  first  cabin  the  cavalcade  split 
up.  There  were  men  here  who  hallooed  a  welcome. 
Gulden  halted  with  his  pack-horse.  Some  of  the 
others  rode  on.  Wood  drove  other  pack-animals 
off  to  the  right,  up  the  gentle  slope.  And  Red 
Pearce,  who  was  beside  Kells,  instructed  Joan  to 

98 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

follow  them.  They  rode  up  to  a  bench  of  strag 
gling  spruce-trees,  in  the  midst  of  which  stood  a 
large  log  cabin.  It  was  new,  as  in  fact  all  the 
structures  in  the  Gulch  appeared  to  be,  and  none  of 
them  had  seen  a  winter.  The  chinks  between  the 
logs  were  yet  open.  This  cabin  was  of  the  rudest 
make  of  notched  logs  one  upon  another,  and  roof  of 
brush  and  earth.  It  was  low  and  flat,  but  very  long, 
and  extending  before  the  whole  of  it  was  a  porch 
roof  supported  by  posts.  At  one  end  was  a  corral. 
There  were  doors  and  windows  with  nothing  in  them. 
Upon  the  front  wall,  outside,  hung  saddles  and 
bridles. 

Joan  had  a  swift,  sharp  gaze  for  the  men  who  rose 
from  their  lounging  to  greet  the  travelers.  Jim 
Cleve  was  not  among  them.  Her  heart  left  her 
throat  then,  and  she  breathed  easier.  How  could 
she  meet  him? 

Kells  was  in  better  shape  than  at  noon  of  the  pre 
ceding  day.  Still,  he  had  to  be  lifted  off  his  horse. 
Joan  heard  all  the  men  talking  at  once.  They 
crowded  round  Pearce,  each  lending  a  hand.  How 
ever,  Kells  appeared  able  to  walk  into  the  cabin. 
It  was  Bate  Wood  who  led  Joan  inside. 

There  was  a  long  room,  with  stone  fireplace,  rude 
benches  and  a  table,  skins  and  blankets  on  the  floor, 
and  lanterns  and  weapons  on  the  wall.  At  one  end 
Joan  saw  a  litter  of  cooking  utensils  and  shelves  of 
supplies. 

Suddenly  Kells's  impatient  voice  silenced  the 
clamor  of  questions.  "I'm  not  hurt,"  he  said. 
"I'm  all  right — only  weak  and  tired.  Fellows,  this 
girl  is  my  wife.  .  .  .  Joan,  you'll  find  a  room  there — 

99 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

at  the  back  of  the  cabin.  Make  yourself  comfort 
able." 

Joan  was  only  too  glad  to  act  upon  his  suggestion. 
A  door  had  been  cut  through  the  back  wall.  It  was 
covered  with  a  blanket.  When  she  swept  this  aside 
she  came  upon  several  steep  steps  that  led  up  to  a 
smaller,  lighter  cabin  of  two  rooms,  separated  by  a 
partition  of  boughs.  She  dropped  the  blanket  be 
hind  her  and  went  up  the  steps.  Then  she  saw  that 
the  new  cabin  had  been  built  against  an  old  one. 
It  had  no  door  or  opening  except  the  one  by  which 
she  had  entered.  It  was  light  because  the  chinks 
between  the  logs  were  open.  The  furnishings  were 
a  wide  bench  of  boughs  covered  with  blankets,  a 
shelf  with  a  blurred  and  cracked  mirror  hanging 
above  it,  a  table  made  of  boxes,  and  a  lantern.  This 
room  was  four  feet  higher  than  the  floor  of  the  other 
cabin.  And  at  the  bottom  of  the  steps  leaned  a 
half-dozen  slender  trimmed  poles.  She  gathered 
presently  that  these  poles  were  intended  to  be  slipped 
under  cross-pieces  above  and  fastened  by  a  bar 
below,  which  means  effectually  barricaded  the  open 
ing.  Joan  could  stand  at  the  head  of  the  steps  and 
peep  under  an  edge  of  the  swinging  blanket  into  the 
large  room,  but  that  was  the  only  place  she  could 
see  through,  for  the  openings  between  the  logs  of 
each  wall  were  not  level.  These  quarters  were  com 
fortable,  private,  and  could  be  shut  off  from  in 
truders.  Joan  had  not  expected  so  much  considera 
tion  from  Kells  and  she  was  grateful. 

She  lay  down  to  rest  and  think.  It  was  really 
very  pleasant  here.  There  were  birds  nesting  in  the 
chinks;  a  ground-squirrel  ran  along  one  of  the  logs 

100 


THE    BORDER   LEGION 

and  chirped  at  her;  through  an  opening  near  her 
face  she  saw  a  wild  rose-bush  ;,a  nd  :;he  :grt#v  -;cloge 
of  the  gulch;  a  soft,  warm,  fragrant  breeze  blew 
in,  stirring  her  hair.  How  strange  that  there  could 
be  beautiful  and  pleasant  things  here  in  this  robber 
den;  that  time  was  the  same  here  as  elsewhere; 
that  the  sun  shone  and  the  sky  gleamed  blue.  Pres 
ently  she  discovered  that  a  lassitude  weighed  upon 
her  and  she  could  not  keep  her  eyes  open.  She 
ceased  trying,  but  intended  to  remain  awake — to 
think,  to  listen,  to  wait.  Nevertheless,  she  did  fall 
asleep  and  did  not  awaken  till  disturbed  by  some 
noise.  The  color  of  the  western  sky  told  her  that 
the  afternoon  was  far  spent.  She  had  slept  hours. 
Some  one  was  knocking.  She  got  up  and  drew  aside 
the  blanket.  Bate  Wood  was  standing  near  the 
door. 

"Now,  miss,  I've  supper  ready,"  he  said,  "an'  I 
was  reckonin'  you'd  like  me  to  fetch  yours." 

"Yes,  thank  you,  I  would,"  replied  Joan. 

In  a  few  moments  Wood  returned  carrying  the 
top  of  a  box  upon  which  were  steaming  pans  and 
cups.  He  handed  this  rude  tray  up  to  Joan. 

"Shore  I'm  a  first-rate  cook,  miss,  when  I've 
somethin'  to  cook,"  he  said,  with  a  smile  that 
changed  his  hard  face. 

She  returned  the  smile  with  her  thanks.  Evi 
dently  Kells  had  a  well-filled  larder,  and  as  Joan 
had  fared  on  coarse  and  hard  food  for  long,  this 
supper  was  a  luxury  and  exceedingly  appetizing. 
While  she  was  eating,  the  blanket  curtain  moved 
aside  and  Kells  appeared.  He  dropped  it  behind 
him,  but  did  not  step  u.p  into  the  room.  He  was 

101 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

in  his  shirt-sleeves,  had  been  clean  shaven,  and 
looked  a  different  man. 

"How  do  you  like  your — home?"  he  inquired, 
with  a  hint  of  his  former  mockery. 

"I'm  grateful  for  the  privacy,"  she  replied. 

"You  think  you  could  be  worse  off,  then?" 

"I  know  it." 

"Suppose  Gulden  kills  me — and  rules  the  gang — 
and  takes  you?  .  .  .  There's  a  story  about  him,  the 
worst  I've  heard  on  this  border.  I'll  tell  you 
some  day  when  I  want  to  scare  you  bad." 

"Gulden!"  Joan  shivered  as  she  pronounced  the 
name.  "Are  you  and  he  enemies?" 

"No  man  can  have  a  friend  on  this  border.  We 
flock  together  like  buzzards.  There's  safety  in 
numbers,  but  we  fight  together,  like  buzzards  over 
carrion." 

"Kells,  you  hate  this  life?" 

"I've  always  hated  my  life,  everywhere.  The 
only  life  I  ever  loved  was  adventure.  ...  I'm  willing 
to  try  a  new  one,  if  you'll  go  with  me." 

Joan  shook  her  head. 

"Why  not?  I'll  marry  you,"  he  went  on,  speak 
ing  lower.  "I've  got  gold;  I'll  get  more." 

"Where  did  you  get  the  gold?"  she  asked. 

"I've  relieved  a  good  many  overburdened  trav 
elers  and  prospectors,"  he  replied. 

"Kells,  you're  a — a  villain!"  exclaimed  Joan, 
unable  to  contain  her  sudden  heat.  "You  must  be 
utterly  mad — to  ask  me  to  marry  you." 

"No,  I'm  not  mad,"  he  rejoined,  with  a  laugh. 
"Gulden's  the  mad  one.  He's  crazy.  He's  got  a 
twist  in  his  brain.  I'm  no  fool.  .  .  .  I've  only  lost 

102 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

my  head  over  you.  But  compare  marrying  me,  liv 
ing  and  traveling  among  decent  people  and  comfort, 
to  camps  like  this.  If  I  don't  get  drunk  I'll  be  half 
decent  to  you.  But  I'll  get  shot  sooner  or  later. 
Then  you'll  be  left  to  Gulden." 

"Why  do  you  say  him?"  she  queried,  in  a  shudder 
of  curiosity. 

"Well,  Gulden  haunts  me." 

"He  does  me,  too.  He  makes  me  lose  my  sense 
of  proportion.  Beside  him  you  and  the  others  seem 
good.  But  you  are  wicked." 

"Then  you  won't  marry  me  and  go  away  some 
where?  .  .  .  Your  choice  is  strange.  Because  I  tell 
you  the  truth." 

"Kells!  I'm  a  woman.  Something  deep  in  me 
says  you  won't  keep  me  here — you  can't  be  so  base. 
Not  now,  after  I  saved  your  life!  It  would  be 
horrible — inhuman.  I  can't  believe  any  man  born, 
of  a  woman  could  do  it." 

"But  I  want  you — I  love  you!"  he  said,  low  and 
hard. 

"Love!  That's  not  love,"  she  replied  in  scorn. 
"God  only  knows  what  it  is." 

"Call  it  what  you  like,"  he  went  on,  bitterly. 
"You're  a  young,  beautiful,  sweet  woman.  It's 
wonderful  to  be  near  you.  My  life  has  been  hell. 
I've  had  nothing.  There's  only  hell  to  look  for 
ward  to — and  hell  at  the  end.  Why  shouldn't  I 
keep  you  here?" 

"But,  Kells,  listen,"  she  whispered,  earnestly, 
"suppose  I  am  young  and  beautiful  and  sweet — as 
you  said.  I'm  utterly  in  your  power.  I'm  com 
pelled  to  seek  your  protection  from  even  worse 

103 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

men.  You're  different  from  these  others.  You're 
educated.  You  must  have  had — a — a  good  mother. 
Now  you're  bitter,  desperate,  terrible.  You  hate 
life.  You  seem  to  think  this  charm  you  see  in  me 
will  bring  you  something.  Maybe  a  glimpse  of  joy! 
But  how  can  it  ?  You  know  better.  How  can  it ... 
unless  I — I  love  you?" 

Kells  stared  at  her,  the  evil  and  hardness  of  his 
passion  corded  in  his  face.  And  the  shadows  of 
comprehending  thought  in  his  strange  eyes  showed 
the  other  side  of  the  man.  He  was  still  staring  at 
her  while  he  reached  to  put  aside  the  curtains;  then 
he  dropped  his  head  and  went  out. 

Joan  sat  motionless,  watching  the  door  where  he 
had  disappeared,  listening  to  the  mounting  beats 
of  her  heart.  She  had  been  only  frank  and  earnest 
with  Kells.  But  he  had  taken  a  meaning  from  her 
last  few  words  that  she  had  not  intended  to  convey. 
All  that  was  woman  in  her — mounting,  fighting, 
hating,  leaped  to  the  power  she  sensed  in  herself. 
If  she  could  be  deceitful,  cunning,  shameless  in  hold 
ing  out  to  Kells  a  possible  return  of  his  love,  she 
could  do  anything  with  him.  She  knew  it.  She 
did  not  need  to  marry  him  or  sacrifice  herself.  Joan 
was  amazed  that  the  idea  remained  an  instant  before 
her  consciousness.  But  something  told  her  this  was 
another  kind  of  life  than  she  had  known,  and  all 
that  was  precious  to  her  hung  in  the  balance.  Any 
falsity  was  justifiable,  even  righteous,  under  the  cir 
cumstances.  Could  she  formulate  a  plan  that  this 
keen  bandit  would  not  see  through?  The  remotest 
possibility  of  her  ever  caring  for  Kells — that  was  as 
much  as  she  dared  hint.  But  that,  together  with  all 

104 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

the  charm  and  seductiveness  she  could  summon, 
might  be  enough.  Dared  she  try  it?  If  she  tried 
and  failed  Kells  would  despise  her,  and  then  she  was 
utterly  lost.  She  was  caught  between  doubt  and 
hope.  All  that  was  natural  and  true  in  her  shrank 
from  such  unwomanly  deception;  all  that  had  been 
born  of  her  wild  experience  inflamed  her  to  play 
the  game,  to  match  Kells 's  villainy  with  a  woman's 
unfathomable  duplicity. 

And  while  Joan  was  absorbed  in  thought  the  sun 
set,  the  light  failed,  twilight  stole  into  the  cabin, 
and  then  darkness.  All  this  hour  there  had  been  a 
continual  sound  of  men's  deep  voices  in  the  large 
cabin,  sometimes  low  and  at  other  times  loud.  It 
was  only  when  Joan  distinctly  heard  the  name  Jim 
Cleve  that  she  was  startled  out  of  her  absorption, 
thrilling  and  flushing.  In  her  eagerness  she  nearly 
fell  as  she  stepped  and  groped  through  the  dark 
ness  to  the  door,  and  as  she  drew  aside  the  blanket 
her  hand  shook. 

The  large  room  was  lighted  by  a  fire  and 
half  a  dozen  lanterns.  Through  a  faint  tinge  of 
blue  smoke  Joan  saw  men  standing  and  sitting 
and  lounging  around  Kells,  who  had  a  seat 
where  the  light  fell  full  upon  him.  Evidently  a 
lull  had  intervened  in  the  talk.  The  dark  faces 
Joan  could  see  were  all  turned  toward  the  door 
expectantly. 

"Bring  him  in,  Bate,  and  let's  look  him  over," 
said  Kells. 

Then  Bate  Wood  appeared,  elbowing  his  way  in, 
and  he  had  his  hand  on  the  arm  of  a  tall,  lithe  fellow. 
When  they  got  into  the  light  Joan  quivered  as  if 

105 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

she  had  been  stabbed.  That  stranger  with  Wood 
was  Jim  Cleve — Jim  Cleve  in  frame  and  feature, 
yet  not  the  same  she  knew. 

"Cleve,  glad  to  meet  you,"  greeted  Kells,  extend 
ing  his  hand. 

"Thanks.  Same  to  you,"  replied  Cleve,  and  he 
met  the  proffered  hand.  His  voice  was  cold  and 
colorless,  unfamiliar  to  Joan.  Was  this  man  really 
Jim  Cleve? 

The  meeting  of  Kells  and  Cleve  was  significant 
because  of  Kells's  interest  and  the  silent  attention 
of  the  men  of  his  clan.  It  did  not  seem  to  mean 
anything  to  the  white-faced,  tragic-eyed  Cleve. 
Joan  gazed  at  him  with  utter  amazement.  She  re 
membered  a  heavily  built,  florid  Jim  Cleve,  an  over 
grown  boy  with  good-natured,  lazy  smile  on  his  full 
face  and  sleepy  eyes.  She  all  but  failed  to  recog 
nize  him  in  the  man  who  stood  there  now,  lithe  and 
powerful,  with  muscles  bulging  in  his  coarse,  white 
shirt.  Joan's  gaze  swept  over  him,  up  and  down, 
shivering  at  the  two  heavy  guns  he  packed,  till  it 
was  transfixed  on  his  face.  The  old,  or  the  other, 
Jim  Cleve  had  been  homely,  with  too  much 
flesh  on  his  face  to  show  force  or  fire.  This  man 
seemed  beautiful.  But  it  was  a  beauty  of  tragedy. 
He  was  as  white  as  Kells,  but  smoothly,  purely 
white,  without  shadow  or  sunburn.  His  lips  seemed 
to  have  set  with  a  bitter,  indifferent  laugh.  His 
eyes  looked  straight  out,  piercing,  intent,  haunted, 
and  as  dark  as  night.  Great  blue  circles  lay  under 
them,  lending  still  further  depth  and  mystery.  It 
was  a  sad,  reckless  face  that  wrung  Joan's  very 
heartstrings.  She  had  come  too  late  to  save  his 

106 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

happiness,  but  she  prayed  that  it  was  not  too  late 
to  save  his  honor  and  his  soul. 

While  she  gazed  there  had  been  further  exchange 
of  speech  between  Kells  and  Cleve,  and  she  had 
heard,  though  not  distinguished,  what  was  said. 
Kells  was  unmistakably  friendly,  as  were  the  other, 
men  within  range  of  Joan's  sight.  Cleve  was  sur 
rounded;  there  were  jesting  and  laughter;  and  then 
he  was  led  to  the  long  table  where  several  men 
were  already  gambling. 

Joan  dropped  the  curtain,  and  in  the  darkness  of 
her  cabin  she  saw  that  white,  haunting  face,  and 
when  she  covered  her  eyes  she  still  saw  it.  The 
pain,  the  reckless  violence,  the  hopeless  indifference, 
the  wreck  and  ruin  in  that  face  had  been  her  doing. 
Why?  How  had  Jim  Cleve  wronged  her?  He  had 
loved  her  at  her  displeasure  and  had  kissed  her 
against  her  will.  She  had  furiously  upbraided  him, 
and  when  he  had  finally  turned  upon  her,  threatening 
to  prove  he  was  no  coward,  she  had  scorned  him 
with  a  girl's  merciless  injustice.  All  her  strength 
and  resolve  left  her,  momentarily,  after  seeing  Jim 
there.  Like  a  woman,  she  weakened.  She  lay  on 
the  bed  and  writhed.  Doubt,  hopelessness,  de 
spair,  again  seized  upon  her,  and  some  strange, 
yearning  maddening  emotion.  What  had  she  sacri 
ficed?  His  happiness  and  her  own — and  both  their 
lives ! 

The  clamor  in  the  other  cabin  grew  so  boisterous 
that  suddenly  when  it  stilled  Joan  was  brought 
sharply  to  the  significance  of  it.  Again  she  drew 
aside  the  curtain  and  peered  out. 

Gulden,  huge,  stolid,  gloomy,   was  entering  the 
8  107 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

cabin.  The  man  fell  into  the  circle  and  faced  Kells 
with  the  firelight  dancing  in  his  cavernous  eyes. 

"Hello,  Gulden!"  said  Kells,  coolly.  "What  ails 
you?" 

"Anybody  tell  you  about  Bill  Bailey?"  asked 
Gulden,  heavily. 

Kells  did  not  show  the  least  concern.  "Tell  me 
what?" 

"That  he  died  in  a  cabin,  down  in  the  valley?" 

Kells  gave  a  slight  start  and  his  eyes  narrowed 
and  shot  steely  glints.  "No.  It's  news  to  me." 

"Kells,  you  left  Bailey  for  dead.  But  he  lived. 
He  was  shot  through,  but  he  got  there  somehow — 
nobody  knows.  He  was  far  gone  when  Beady  Jones 
happened  along.  Before  he  died  he  sent  word  to 
me  by  Beady.  .-  .  .  Are  you  curious  to  know  what  it 
was?" 

"Not  the  least,"  replied  Kells.  "Bailey  was— 
well,  offensive  to  my  wife.  I  shot  him." 

"He  swore  you  drew  on  him  in  cold  blood,"  thun 
dered  Gulden.  "He  swore  it  was  for  nothing — just 
so  you  could  be  alone  with  that  girl!" 

Kells  rose  in  wonderful  calmness,  with  only  his 
pallor  and  a  slight  shaking  of  his  hands  to  betray 
excitement.  An  uneasy  stir  and  murmur  ran 
through  the  room.  Red  Pearce,  nearest  at  hand, 
stepped  to  Kells 's  side.  All  in  a  moment  there  was 
a  deadly  surcharged  atmosphere  there. 

"Well,  he  swore  right! .  .  .  Now  what's  it  to  you?" 

Apparently  the  fact  and  its  confession  were  noth 
ing  particular  to  Gulden,  or  else  he  was  deep  where 
all  considered  him  only  dense  and  shallow. 

"It's  done.  Bill's  dead,"  continued  Gulden.  "But 

108 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

why  do  you  double-cross  the  gang?  What's  the 
game?  You  never  did  it  before.  .  .  .  That  girl  isn't 
your — " 

"Shut  up!"  hissed  Kells.  Like  a  flash  his  hand 
flew  out  with  his  gun,  and  all  about  him  was  dark 
menace. 

Gulden  made  no  attempt  to  draw.  He  did  not 
show  surprise  nor  fear  nor  any  emotion.  He  ap 
peared  plodding  in  mind. 

Red  Pearce  stepped  between  Kells  and  Gulden. 
There  was  a  relaxation  in  the  crowd,  loud  breaths, 
scraping  of  feet.  Gulden  turned  away.  Then 
Kells  resumed  his  seat  and  his  pipe  as  if  nothing 
out  of  the  ordinary  had  occurred. 


CHAPTER  IX 

JOAN  turned  away  from  the  door  in  a  cold  clamp 
of  relief.  The  shadow  of  death  hovered  over 
these  men.  She  must  fortify  herself  to  live  under 
that  shadow,  to  be  prepared  for  any  sudden  violence, 
to  stand  a  succession  of  shocks  that  inevitably  would 
come.  She  listened.  The  men  were  talking  and 
laughing  now;  there  came  a  click  of  chips,  the  spat 
of  a  thrown  card,  the  thump  of  a  little  sack  of  gold. 
Ahead  of  her  lay  the  long  hours  of  night  in  which 
these  men  would  hold  revel.  Only  a  faint  ray  of 
light  penetrated  her  cabin,  but  it  was  sufficient  for 
her  to  distinguish  objects.  She  set  about  putting 
the  poles  in  place  to"  barricade  the  opening.  When 
she  had  finished  she  knew  she  was  safe  at  least  from 
intrusion.  Who  had  constructed  that  rude  door 
'and  for  what  purpose?  Then  she  yielded  to  the 
temptation  to  peep  once  more  under  the  edge  of  the 
curtain. 

The  room  was  cloudy  and  blue  with  smoke.  She 
saw  Jim  Cleve  at  a  table  gambling  with  several 
ruffians.  His  back  was  turned,  yet  Joan  felt  the 
contrast  of  his  attitude  toward  the  game,  compared 
with  that  of  the  others.  They  were  tense,  fierce,  and 
intent  upon  every  throw  of  a  card.  Cleve's  very 
poise  of  head  and  movement  of  arm  betrayed  his 

no 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

indifference.     One  of  the  gamblers  howled  his  dis 
gust,  slammed  down  his  cards,  and  got  up. 

"He's  cleaned  out,"  said  one,  in  devilish  glee. 

"Naw,  he  ain't,"  vouched  another.  "He's  got 
two  fruit-cans  full  of  dust.  I  saw  'em.  .  .  .  He's  just 
lay  down — like  a  poisoned  coyote." 

"Shore  I'm  glad  Cleve's  got  the  luck,  fer  mebbe 
he'll  give  my  gold  back,"  spoke  up  another  gamester, 
with  a  laugh. 

"Wai,  he  certainlee  is  the  chilvalus  card  sharp," 
rejoined  the  last  player.  "Jim,  was  you  allus  as 
lucky  in  love  as  in  cards?" 

"Lucky  in  love?  .  .  .  Sure!"  answered  Jim  Cleve, 
with  a  mocking,  reckless  ring  in  his  voice. 

"Funny,  ain't  thet,  boys?  Now  there's  the  boss. 
Kells  can  sure  win  the  gurls,  but  he's  a  pore  gambler." 
Kells  heard  this  speech,  and  he  laughed  with  the 
others.  "Hey,  you  greaser,  you  never  won  any  of 
my  money,"  he  said. 

"Come  an'  set  in,  boss.  Come  an'  see  your  gold 
fade  away.  You  can't  stop  this  Jim  Cleve.  Luck 
— bull  luck  straddles  his  neck.  He'll  win  your  gold 
— your  hosses  an'  saddles  an'  spurs  an'  guns — an" 
your  shirt,  if  you've  nerve  enough  to  bet  it." 

The  speaker  slapped  his  cards  upon  the  table  while 
he  gazed  at  Cleve  in  grieved  admiration.  Kells 
walked  over  to  the  group  and  he  put  his  hand  on 
Cleve's  shoulder. 

"Say  youngster,"  he  said,  genially,  "you  said  you 
were  just  as  lucky  in  love.  .  .  .  Now  I  had  a  hunch 
some  bad  luck  with  a  girl  drove  you  out  here  to  the 
border." 

Kells  spoke  jestingly,  in  a  way  that  could  give  no 
in 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

offense,  even  to  the  wildest  of  boys,  yet  there  was 
curiosity,  keenness,  penetration,  in  his  speech.  It 
had  not  the  slightest  effect  upon  Jim  Cleve. 

"Bad  luck  and  a  girl?  ...  To  hell  with  both!"  he 
said. 

"Shore  you're  talkin'  religion.  Thet's  where  both 
luck  an'  gurls  come  from,"  replied  the  unlucky 
gamester.  "Will  one  of  you  hawgs  pass  the 
whisky?" 

The  increased  interest  with  which  Kells  looked 
down  upon  Jim  Cleve  was  not  lost  upon  Joan.  But 
she  had  seen  enough,  and,  turning  away,  she  stumbled 
to  the  bed  and  lay  there  with  an  ache  in  her  heart. 

"Oh,"  she  whispered  to  herself,  "he  is  ruined — 
ruined — ruined!  .  .  .  God  forgive  me!"  She  saw 
bright,  cold  stars  shining  between  the  logs.  The 
night  wind  swept  in  cold  and  pure,  with  the  dew  of 
the  mountain  in  it.  She  heard  the  mourn  of  wolves, 
the  hoot  of  an  owl,  the  distant  cry  of  a  panther, 
weird  and  wild.  Yet  outside  there  was  a  thick  and 
lonely  silence.  In  that  other  cabin,  from  which  she 
was  mercifully  shut  out,  there  were  different  sounds, 
hideous  by  contrast.  By  and  by  she  covered  her 
ears,  and  at  length,  weary  from  thought  and  sorrow, 
she  drifted  into  slumber. 

Next  morning,  long  after  she  had  awakened,  the 
cabin  remained  quiet,  with  no  one  stirring.  Morn 
ing  had  half  gone  before  Wood  knocked  and  gave 
her  a  bucket  of  water,  a  basin,  and  towels.  Later 
he  came  with  her  breakfast.  After  that  she  had 
nothing  to  do  but  pace  the  floor  of  her  two  rooms. 
One  appeared  to  be  only  an  empty  shed,  long  in  dis 
use.  Her  view  from  both  rooms  was  restricted  to 

112 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

the  green  slope  of  the  gulch  up  to  yellow  crags  and 
the  sky.  But  she  would  rather  have  had  this  to 
watch  than  an  outlook  upon  the  cabins  and  the 
doings  of  these  bandits. 

About  noon  she  heard  the  voice  of  Kells  in  low 
and  earnest  conversation  with  some  one;  she  could 
not,  however,  understand  what  was  said.  That 
ceased,  and  then  she  heard  Kells  moving  around. 
There  came  a  clatter  of  hoofs  as  a  horse  galloped 
away  from  the  cabin,  after  which  a  knock  sounded 
on  the  wall. 

"Joan,"  called  Kells.  Then  the  curtain  was  swept 
aside  and  Kells,  appearing  pale  and  troubled, 
stepped  into  her  room. 

"What's  the  matter?"  asked  Joan,  hurriedly. 

"Gulden  shot  two  men  this  morning.  One's 
dead.  The  other's  in  bad  shape,  so  Red  tells  me. 
I  haven't  seen  him." 

"Who — who  are  they?"  faltered  Joan.  She  could 
not  think  of  any  man  except  Jim  Cleve. 

'  *  Dan  Small's  the  one's  dead.  The  other  they  call 
Dick.  Never  heard  his  last  name." 

"Was  it  a  fight?" 

"Of  course.  And  Gulden  picked  it.  He's  a 
quarrelsome  man.  Nobody  can  go  against  him. 
He's  all  the  time  like  some  men  when  they're  drunk. 
I'm  sorry  I  didn't  bore  him  last  night.  I  would 
have  done  it  if  it  hadn't  been  for  Red  Pearce." 

Kells  seemed  gloomy  and  concentrated  on  his 
situation  and  he  talked  naturally  to  Joan,  as  if  she 
were  one  to  sympathize.  A  bandit,  then,  in  the 
details  of  his  life,  the  schemes,  troubles,  friendships, 
relations,  was  no  different  from  any  other  kind  of  a 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

man.  He  was  human,  and  things  that  might  con 
stitute  black  evil  for  observers  were  dear  to  him,  a 
part  of  him.  Joan  feigned  the  sympathy  she  could 
not  feel. 

"I  thought  Gulden  was  your  enemy." 

Kells  sat  down  on  one  of  the  box  seats,  and  his 
heavy  gun-sheath  rested  upon  the  floor.  He  looked 
at  Joan  now,  forgetting  she  was  a  woman  and  his 
prisoner. 

"I  never  thought  of  that  till  now,"  he  said.  "We 
always  got  along  because  I  understood  him.  I  man 
aged  him.  The  man  hasn't  changed  in  the  least. 
He's  always  what  he  is.  But  there's  a  difference. 
I  noticed  that  first  over  in  Lost  Canon.  And,  Joan, 
I  believe  it's  because  Gulden  saw  you." 

"Oh  no!"  cried  Joan,  trembling. 

' ' Maybe  I'm  wrong.  Anyway  something's  wrong. 
Gulden  never  had  a  friend  or  a  partner.  I  don't 
misunderstand  his  position  regarding  Bailey.  What 
did  he  care  for  that  soak?  Gulden's  cross-grained. 
He  opposes  anything  or  anybody.  He's  got  a  twist 
in  his  mind  that  makes  him  dangerous.  ...  I  wanted 
to  get  rid  of  him.  I  decided  to — after  last  night. 
But  now  it  seems  that's  no  easy  job." 

"Why?"  asked  Joan,  curiously. 

"Pearce  and  Wood  and  Beard,  all  men  I  rely  on, 
said  it  won't  do.  They  hint  Gulden  is  strong  with 
my  gang  here,  and  all  through  the  border.  I  was 
wild.  I  don't  believe  it.  But  as  I'm  not  sure — 
what  can  I  do?  ...  They're  all  afraid  of  Gulden. 
That's  it.  ...  And  I  believe  I  am,  too." 

' '  You !"  exclaimed  Joan. 

Kells  actually  looked  ashamed.  "I  believe  I  am, 

114 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

Joan,"  he  replied.  "That  Gulden  is  not  a  man.  I 
never  was  afraid  of  a  real  man.  He's — he's  an 
animal." 

"He  made  me  think  of  a  gorilla,"  said  Joan. 

"There's  only  one  man  I  know  who's  not  afraid 
of  Gulden.  He's  a  new-comer  here  on  the  border. 
Jim  Cleve  he  calls  himself.  A  youngster  I  can't 
figure!  But  he'd  slap  the  devil  himself  in  the  face. 
Cleve  won't  last  long  out  here.  Yet  you  can  never 
tell.  Men  like  him,  who  laugh  at  death,  sometimes 
avert  it  for  long.  I  was  that  way  once.  .  .  .  Cleve 
heard  me  talking  to  Pearce  about  Gulden.  And  he 
said,  'Kells,  I'll  pick  a  fight  with  this  Gulden  and 
drive  him  out  of  the  camp  or  kill  him. ' ' 

"What  did  you  say?"  queried  Joan,  trying  to 
steady  her  voice  as  she  averted  her  eyes. 

"I  said:  'Jim,  that  wins  me.  But  I  don't  want 
you  killed.' . . .  It  certainly  was  nervy  of  the  youngster. 
Said  it  just  the  same  as — as  he'd  offer  to  cinch  my 
saddle.  Gulden  can  whip  a  roomful  of  men.  He's 
done  it.  And  as  for  a  killer — I've  heard  of  no  man 
with  his  record." 

"And  that's  why  you  fear  him?" 

"It's  not,"  replied  Kells,  passionately,  as  if  his 
manhood  had  been  affronted.  "It's  because  he's 
Gulden.  There's  something  uncanny  about  him. 
.  .  .  Gulden's  a  cannibal!" 

Joan  looked  as  if  she  had  not  heard  aright. 

"It's  a  cold  fact.  Known  all  over  the  border. 
Gulden's  no  braggart.  But  he's  been  known  to  talk. 
He  was  a  sailor — a  pirate.  Once  he  was  ship 
wrecked.  Starvation  forced  him  to  be  a  cannibal. 
He  told  this  in  California,  and  in  Nevada  camps. 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

But  no  one  believed  him.  A  few  years  ago  he  got 
snowed-up  in  the  mountains  back  of  Lewiston.  He 
had  two  companions  with  him.  They  all  began  to 
starve.  It  was  absolutely  necessary  to  try  to  get 
out.  They  started  out  in  the  snow.  Travel  was 
desperately  hard.  Gulden  told  that  his  companions 
dropped.  But  he  murdered  them — and  again  saved 
his  life  by  being  a  cannibal.  After  this  became 
known  his  sailor  yarns  were  no  longer  doubted.  .  .  . 
There's  another  story  about  him.  Once  he  got  hold 
of  a  girl  and  took  her  into  the  mountains.  After  a 
winter  he  returned  alone.  He  told  that  he'd  kept 
her  tied  in  a  cave,  without  any  clothes,  and  she  froze 
to  death." 

"Oh,  horrible!"  moaned  Joan. 

"I  don't  know  how  true  it  is.  But  I  believe  it. 
Gulden  is  not  a  man.  The  worst  of  us  have  a  con 
science.  We  can  tell  right  from  wrong.  But  Gul 
den  can't.  He's  beneath  morals.  He  has  no  con 
ception  of  manhood,  such  as  I've  seen  in  the  lowest 
of  outcasts.  That  cave  story  with  the  girl — that 
betrays  him.  He  belongs  back  in  the  Stone  Age. 
He's  a  thing.  .  .  .  And  here  on  the  border,  if  he  wants, 
he  can  have  all  the  more  power  because  of  what 
he  is." 

"Kells,  don't  let  him  see  me!"  entreated  Joan. 

The  bandit  appeared  not  to  catch  the  fear  in 
Joan's  tone  and  look.  She  had  been  only  a  listener. 
Presently,  with  preoccupied  and  gloomy  mien,  he 
left  her  alone. 

Joan  did  not  see  him  again,  except  for  glimpses 
under  the  curtain,  for  three  days.  She  kept  the  door 

116 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

barred  and  saw  no  one  except  Bate  Wood,  who 
brought  her  meals.  She  paced  her  cabin  like  a  caged 
creature.  During  this  period  few  men  visited 
Kells's  cabin,  and  these  few  did  not  remain  long. 
Joan  was  aware  that  Kells  was  not  always  at  home. 
Evidently  he  was  able  to  go  out.  Upon  the  fourth 
day  he  called  to  her  and  knocked  for  admittance. 
Joan  let  him  in,  and  saw  that  he  was  now  almost 
well  again,  once  more  cool,  easy,  cheerful,  with  his 
strange,  forceful  air. 

"Good  day,  Joan.  You  don't  seem  to  be  pining 
for  your — negligent  husband." 

He  laughed  as  if  he  mocked  himself,  but  there 
was  gladness  in  the  very  sight  of  her,  and  some  in 
definable  tone  in  his  voice  that  suggested  respect. 

"I  didn't  miss  you,"  replied  Joan.  Yet  it  was  a 
relief  to  see  him. 

"No,  I  imagine  not,"  he  said,  dryly.  "Well,  I've 
been  busy  with  men — with  plans.  Things  are  work 
ing  out  to  my  satisfaction.  Red  Pearce  got  around 
Gulden.  There's  been  no  split.  Besides,  Gulden 
rode  off.  Some  one  said  he  went  after  a  little  girl 
named  Brander.  I  hope  he  gets  shot.  .  .  .  Joan,  we'll 
be  leaving  Cabin  Gulch  soon.  I'm  expecting  news 
that  '11  change  things.  I  won't  leave  you  here. 
You'll  have  to  ride  the  roughest  trails.  And  your 
clothes  are  in  tatters  now.  You've  got  to  have 
something  to  wear." 

"I  should  think  so,"  replied  Joan,  fingering  the 
thin,  worn,  ragged  habit  that  had  gone  to  pieces. 
"The  first  brush  I  ride  through  will  tear  this  off." 

"That's  annoying,"  said  Kells,  with  exasperation 
at  himself.  "Where  on  earth  can  I  get  you  a  dress? 

117 


THE    BORDER    LEGiON 

We're  two  hundred  miles  from  everywhere.  The 
wildest  kind  of  country.  .  .  .  Say,  did  you  ever  wear 
a  man's  outfit?" 

"Ye-es,  when  I  went  prospecting  and  hunting  with 
my  uncle,"  she  replied,  reluctantly. 

Suddenly  he  had  a  daring  and  brilliant  smile  that 
changed  his  face  completely.  He  rubbed  his  palms 
together.  He  laughed  as  if  at  a  huge  joke.  He 
cast  a  measuring  glance  up  and  down  her  slender 
form. 

"Just  wait  till  I  come  back,"  he  said. 

He  left  her  and  she  heard  him  rummaging  around 
in  the  pile  of  trappings  she  had  noted  in  a  corner 
of  the  other  cabin.  Presently  he  returned  carrying 
a  bundle.  This  he  unrolled  on  the  bed  and  spread 
out  the  articles. 

"Dandy  Dale's  outfit,"  he  said,  with  animation. 
"Dandy  was  a  would-be  knight  of  the  road.  He 
dressed  the  part.  But  he  tried  to  hold  up  a  stage 
over  here  and  an  unappreciative  passenger  shot  him. 
He  wasn't  killed  outright.  He  crawled  away  and 
died.  Some  of  my  men  found  him  and  they  fetched 
his  clothes.  That  outfit  cost  a  fortune.  But  not  a 
man  among  us  could  get  into  it." 

There  was  a  black  sombrero  with  heavy  silver 
band ;  a  dark-blue  blouse  and  an  embroidered  buck 
skin  vest;  a  belt  full  of  cartridges  and  a  pearl- 
handled  gun;  trousers  of  corduroy;  high-top  leather 
boots  and  gold-mounted  spurs,  all  of  the  finest  ma 
terial  and  workmanship. 

"Joan,  I'll  make  you  a  black  mask  out  of  the  rim 
of  a  felt  hat,  and  then  you'll  be  grand."  He  spoke 
with  the  impulse  and  enthusiasm  of  a  boy. 

118 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

"Kells,  you  don't  mean  me  to  wear  these?"  asked 
Joan,  incredulously. 

''Certainly.  Why  not?  Just  the  thing.  A  little 
fancy,  but  then  you're  a  girl.  We  can't  hide  that. 
I  don't  want  to  hide  it." 

"I  won't  wear  them,"  declared  Joan. 

"Excuse  me — but  you  will,"  he  replied,  coolly  and 
pleasantly. 

"I  won't!"  cried  Joan.     She  could  not  keep  cool. 

"Joan,  you've  got  to  take  long  rides  with  me.  At 
night  sometimes.  Wild  rides  to  elude  pursuers 
sometimes.  You'll  go  into  camps  with  me.  You'll 
have  to  wear  strong,  easy,  free  clothes.  You'll 
have  to  be  masked.  Here  the  outfit  is — as  if  made 
for  you.  Why,  you're  dead  lucky.  For  this  stuff 
is  good  and  strong.  It  '11  stand  the  wear,  yet  it's 
fit  for  a  girl.  .  .  .  You  put  the  outfit  on,  right 
now." 

"I  said  I  wouldn't!"  Joan  snapped. 

"But  what  do  you  care  if  it  belonged  to  a  fellow 
who's  dead?  .  .  .  There!  See  that  hole  in  the  shirt. 
That's  a  bullet-hole.  Don't  be  squeamish.  It  11 
only  make  your  part  harder." 

"Mr.  Kells,  you  seem  to  have  forgotten  entirely 
that  I'm  a— a  girl." 

He  looked  blank  astonishment.  "Maybe  I  have. 
.  .  .  I'll  remember.  But  you  said  you'd  worn  a 
man's  things." 

"I  wore  my  brother's  coat  and  overalls,  and  was 
lost  in  them,"  replied  Joan. 

His  face  began  to  work.  Then  he  laughed  up 
roariously.  "I — under — stand.  This  '11  fit — you — 
like  a  glove.  .  .  .  Fine!  I'm  dying  to  see  you." 

119 


THE    BORDER   LEGION 

"You  never  will." 

At  that  he  grew  sober  and  his  eyes  glinted.  "You 
can't  take  a  little  fun.  I'll  leave  you  now  for  a 
while.  When  I  come  back  you'll  have  that  suit 
on!" 

There  was  that  in  his  voice  then  which  she  had 
heard  when  he  ordered  men. 

Joan  looked  her  defiance. 

"If  you  don't  have  it  on  when  I  come  I'll — I'll 
tear  your  rags  off!  ...  I  can  do  that.  You're  a 
strong  little  devil,  and  maybe  I'm  not  well  enough 
yet  to  pull  this  outfit  on  you.  But  I  can  get  help. . . . 
If  you  anger  me  I  might  wait  for — Gulden!" 

Joan's  legs  grew  weak  under  her,  so  that  she  had 
to  sink  on  the  bed.  Kells  would  do  absolutely  and 
literally  what  he  threatened.  She  understood  now 
the  changing  secret  in  his  eyes.  One  moment  he 
was  a  certain  kind  of  a  man  and  the  very  next  he 
was  incalculably  different.  She  instinctively  recog 
nized  this  latter  personality  as  her  enemy.  She 
must  use  all  the  strength  and  wit  and  cunning  and 
charm  to  keep  his  other  personality  in  the  ascendancy, 
else  all  was  futile. 

"Since  you  force  me  so — then  I  must,"  she  said. 

Kells  left  her  without  another  word. 

Joan  removed  her  stained  and  torn  dress  and  her 
worn-out  boots;  then  hurriedly,  for  fear  Kells 
might  return,  she  put  on  the  dead  boy-bandit's  out 
fit.  Dandy  Dale  assuredly  must  have  been  her 
counterpart,  for  his  things  fit  her  perfectly.  Joan 
felt  so  strange  that  she  scarcely  had  courage  enough 
to  look  into  the  mirror.  When  she  did  look  she  gave 
a  start  that  was  of  both  amaze  and  shame.  But  for 

120 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

her  face  she  never  could  have  recognized  herself. 
What  had  become  of  her  height,  her  slenderness? 
She  looked  like  an  audacious  girl  in  a  dashing  boy 
masquerade.  Her  shame  was  singular,  inasmuch  as 
it  consisted  of  a  burning  hateful  consciousness  that 
she  had  not  been  able  to  repress  a  thrill  of  delight 
at  her  appearance,  and  that  this  costume  strangely 
magnified  every  curve  and  swell  of  her  body,  be 
traying  her  femininity  as  nothing  had  ever  done. 

And  just  at  that  moment  Kells  knocked  on  the 
door  and  called,  "Joan,  are  you  dressed?" 

"Yes,"  she  replied.  But  the  word  seemed  in 
voluntary. 

Then  Kells  came  in. 

It  was  an  instinctive  and  frantic  impulse  that 
made  Joan  snatch  up  a  blanket  and  half  envelop 
herself  in  it.  She  stood  with  scarlet  face  and  dilat 
ing  eyes,  trembling  in  every  limb.  Kells  had  en 
tered  with  an  expectant  smile  and  that  mocking 
light  in  his  gaze.  Both  faded.  He  stared  at  the 
blanket — then  at  her  face.  Then  he  seemed  to  com 
prehend  this  ordeal.  And  he  looked  sorry  for  her. 

"Why  you — you  little — fool!"  he  exclaimed,  with 
emotion.  And  that  emotion  seemed  to  exasperate 
him.  Turning  away  from  her,  he  gazed  out  between 
the  logs.  Again,  as  so  many  times  before,  he  ap 
peared  to  be  remembering  something  that  was  hard 
to  recall,  and  vague. 

Joan,  agitated  as  she  was,  could  not  help  but  see 
the  effect  of  her  unexpected  and  unconscious  girl- 
ishness.  She  comprehended  that  with  the  mind  of 
the  woman  which  had  matured  in  her.  Like  Kells, 
she,  too,  had  different  personalities. 

121 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

"I'm  trying  to  be  decent  to  you,"  went  on  Kells, 
without  turning.  "I  want  to  give  you  a  chance 
to  make  the  best  of  a  bad  situation.  But  you're  a 
kid — a  girl!  .  .  .  And  I'm  a  bandit.  A  man  lost  to 
all  good,  who  means  to  have  you!" 

"But  you're  not  lost  to  all  good,"  replied  Joan, 
earnestly.  "I  can't  understand  what  I  do  feel. 
But  I  know — if  it  had  been  Gulden  instead  of  you — 
that  I  wouldn't  have  tried  to  hide  my — myself  be 
hind  this  blanket.  I'm  no  longer — afraid  of  you. 
That's  why  I  acted — so — just  like  a  girl  caught.  .  .  . 
Oh!  can't  you  see?" 

"No,  I  can't  see,"  he  replied.  "I  wish  I  hadn't 
fetched  you  here.  I  wish  the  thing  hadn't  hap 
pened.  Now  it's  too  late." 

"It's  never  too  late.  .  .  .  You — you  haven't — 
harmed  me  yet." 

* '  But  I  love  you, ' '  he  burst  out.  ' '  Not  like  I  have. 
Oh !  I  see  this — that  I  never  really  loved  any  woman 
before.  Something's  gripped  me.  It  feels  like  that 
rope  at  my  throat — when  they  were  going  to  hang 
me." 

Then  Joan  trembled  in  the  realization  that  a  tre 
mendous  passion  had  seized  upon  this  strange,  strong 
man.  In  the  face  of  it  she  did  not  know  how  to 
answer  him.  Yet  somehow  she  gathered  courage  in 
the  knowledge. 

Kells  stood  silent  a  long  moment,  looking  out  at 
the  green  slope.  And  then,  as  if  speaking  to  him 
self,  he  said :  "I  stacked  the  deck  and  dealt  myself  a 
hand — a  losing  hand — and  now  I've  got  to  play  it!" 

With  that  he  turned  to  face  Joan.  It  was  the 
piercing  gaze  he  bent  upon  her  that  hastened  her 

122 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

decision  to  resume  the  part  she  had  to  play.  And 
she  dropped  the  blanket.  Kells's  gloom  and  that 
iron  hardness  vanished.  He  smiled  as  she  had  never 
seen  him  smile.  In  that  and  his  speechless  delight 
she  read  his  estimate  of  her  appearance;  and,  not 
withstanding  the  unwomanliness  of  her  costume,  and 
the  fact  of  his  notorious  character,  she  knew  she  had 
never  received  so  great  a  compliment.  Finally  he 
found  his  voice. 

"Joan,  if  you're  not  the  prettiest  thing  I  ever  saw 
in  my  life!" 

"I  can't  get  used  to  this  outfit,"  said  Joan.  "I 
can't — I  won't  go  away  from  this  room  in  it." 

"Sure  you  will.  See  here,  this '11  make  a  differ 
ence,  maybe.  You're  so  shy." 

He  held  out  a  wide  piece  of  black  felt  that  evident 
ly  he  had  cut  from  a  sombrero.  This  he  measured 
over  her  forehead  and  eyes,  and  then  taking  his  knife 
he  cut  it  to  a  desired  shape.  Next  he  cut  eyeholes 
in  it  and  fastened  to  it  a  loop  made  of  a  short  strip 
of  buckskin. 

"Try  that.  .  .  .  Pull  it  down — even  with  your 
eyes.  There! — take  a  look  at  yourself." 

Joan  faced  the  mirror  and  saw  merely  a  masked 
stranger.  She  was  no  longer  Joan  Randle.  Her 
identity  had  been  absolutely  lost. 

"No  one — who  ever  knew  me — could  recognize 
me  now,"  she  murmured,  and  the  relieving  thought 
centered  round  Jim  Cleve. 

"I  hadn't  figured  on  that,"  replied  Kells.  "But 
you're  right.  .  .  .  Joan,  if  I  don't  miss  my  guess,  it 
won't  be  long  till  you'll  be  the  talk  of  mining-towns 
and  carnp-fires." 

9  I23 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

This  remark  of  Kells's  brought  to  Joan  proof  of  his 
singular  pride  in  the  name  he  bore,  and  proof  of 
many  strange  stories  about  bandits  and  wild  women 
of  the  border.  She  had  never  believed  any  of  these 
stories.  They  had  seemed  merely  a  part  of  the  life 
of  this  unsettled  wild  country.  A  prospector  would 
spend  a  night  at  a  camp-fire  and  tell  a  weird  story 
and  pass  on,  never  to  be  seen  there  again.  Could 
there  have  been  a  stranger  story  than  her  life  seemed 
destined  to  be?  Her  mind  whirled  with  vague,  cir 
cling  thought — Kells  and  his  gang,  the  wild  trails, 
the  camps  and  towns,  gold  and  stage-coaches,  rob 
bery,  fights,  murder,  mad  rides  in  the  dark,  and 
back  to  Jim  Cleve  and  his  ruin. 

Suddenly  Kells  stepped  to  her  from  behind  and 
put  his  arms  around  her.  Joan  grew  stiff.  She 
had  been  taken  off  her  guard.  She  was  in  his  arms 
and  could  not  face  him. 

"Joan,  kiss  me,"  he  whispered,  with  a  softness, 
a  richer,  deeper  note  in  his  voice. 

"No!"  cried  Joan,  violently. 

There  was  a  moment  of  silence  in  which  she  felt 
his  grasp  slowly  tighten — the  heave  of  his  breast. 

"Then  I'll  make  you,"  he  said.  So  different  was 
the  voice  now  that  another  man  might  have  spoken. 
Then  he  bent  her  backward,  and,  loosing  one 
hand,  caught  it  under  her  chin  and  tried  to  lift 
her  face. 

But  Joan  broke  into  fierce,  violent  resistance.  She 
believed  she  was  doomed,  but  that  only  made  her 
the  fiercer,  the  stronger.  And  with  her  head  down, 
her  arms  straining,  her  body  hard  and  rigidly  un 
yielding  she  fought  him  all  over  the  room,  knocking 

124 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

over  the  table  and  seats,  wrestling  from  wall  to  wall, 
till  at  last  they  fell  across  the  bed  and  she  broke  his 
hold.  Then  she  sprang  up,  panting,  disheveled, 
and  backed  away  from  him.  It  had  been  a  sharp, 
desperate  struggle  on  her  part  and  she  was  stronger 
than  he.  He  was  not  a  well  man.  He  raised  him 
self  and  put  one  hand  to  his  breast.  His  face  was 
haggard,  wet,  working  with  passion,  gray  with  pain. 
In  the  struggle  she  had  hurt  him,  perhaps  reopened 
his  wound. 

' '  Did  you — knife  me^that  it  hurts  so  ?"  he  panted, 
raising  a  hand  that  shook. 

"I  had — nothing.  ...  I  just — fought,"  cried  Joan, 
breathlessly. 

"You  hurt  me — again — damn  you!  I'm  never 
free — from  pain.  But  this  's  worse.  .  .  .  And  I'm  a 
coward.  .  .  .  And  I'm  a  dog,  too !  Not  half  a  man ! — 
You  slip  of  a  girl — and  I  couldn't — hold  you!" 

His  pain  and  shame  were  dreadful  for  Joan  to  see, 
because  she  felt  sorry  for  him.,  and  divined  that  be 
hind  them  would  rise  the  darker,  grimmer  force  of 
the  man.  And  she  was  right,  for  suddenly  he 
changed.  That  which  had  seemed  almost  to  make 
him  abject  gave  way  to  a  pale  and  bitter  dignity. 
He  took  up  Dandy  Dale's  belt,  which  Joan  had  left 
on  the  bed,  and,  drawing  the  gun  from  its  sheath,  he 
opened  the  cylinder  to  see  if  it  was  loaded,  and  then 
threw  the  gun  at  Joan's  feet. 

"There!  Take  it — and  make  a  better  job  this 
time,"  he  said. 

The  power  in  his  voice  seemed  to  force  Joan  to 
pick  up  the  gun. 

"What  do — you  mean?"  she  queried,  haltingly. 
125 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

"Shoot  me  again!  Put  me  out  of  my  pain — my 
misery!  .  .  .  I'm  sick  of  it  all.  I'd  be  glad  to  have 
you  kill  me!" 

"Kells!"  exclaimed  Joan,  weakly. 

''Take  your  chance — now — when  I've  no  strength 
— to  force  you.  .  .  .  Throw  the  gun  on  me.  .  .  .  Kill 
me!" 

He  spoke  with  a  terrible  impelling  earnestness,  and 
the  strength  of  his  will  almost  hypnotized  Joan  into 
execution  of  his  demand. 

' 'You  are  mad,"  she  said.  "I  don't  want  to  kill 
you.  I  couldn't.  ...  I  just  want  you  to — to  be — 
decent  to  me." 

"I  have  been — for  me.  I  was  only  in  fun  this 
time — when  I  grabbed  you.  But  the  feel  of  you! 
...  I  can't  be  decent  any  more.  I  see  things  clear 
now.  .  .  .  Joan  Randle,  it's  my  life  or  your  soul!" 

He  rose  now,  dark,  shaken,  stripped  of  all  save 
the  truth. 

Joan  dropped  the  gun  from  nerveless  grasp. 

"Is  that  your  choice?"  he  asked,  hoarsely. 

"I  can't  murder  you!" 

"Are  you  afraid  of  the  other  men — of  Gulden? 
Is  that  why  you  can't  kill  me?  You're  afraid  to  be 
left — to  try  to  get  away?" 

"I  never  thought  of  them." 

"Then — my  life  or  your  soul!" 

He  stalked  toward  her,  loomed  over  her,  so  that 
she  put  out  trembling  hands.  After  the  struggle  a 
reaction  was  coming  to  her.  She  was  weakening. 
She  had  forgotten  her  plan. 

"If  you're  merciless — then  it  must  be — my  soul," 
she  whispered.  "For  I  can't  murder  you.  .  .  .  Could 

126 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

you  take  that  gun  now — and  press  it  here — and 
murder  met" 

"No.     For  I  love  you." 

"You  don't  love  me.  It's  a  blacker  crime  to  mur 
der  the  soul  than  the  body." 

Something  in  his  strange  eyes  inspired  Joan  with 
a  flashing,  reviving  divination.  Back  upon  her 
flooded  all  that  tide  of  wroman's  subtle  incalculable 
power  to  allure,  to  change,  to  hold.  Swiftly  she  went 
close  to  Kells.  She  stretched  out  her  hands.  One 
was  bleeding  from  rough  contact  with  the  log  wall 
during  the  struggle.  Her  wrists  were  red,  swollen, 
bruised  from  his  fierce  grasp. 

"Look!  See  what  you've  done.  You  were  a 
beast.  You  made  me  fight  like  a  beast.  My  hands 
were  claws — my  whole  body  one  hard  knot  of 
muscle.  You  couldn't  hold  me — you  couldn't  kiss 
me.  ...  Suppose  you  are  able  to  hold  me — later. 
I'll  only  be  the  husk  of  a  woman.  I'll  just  be  a  cold 
shell,  doubled-up,  unrelaxed,  a  callous  thing  never 
to  yield.  .  .  .  All  that's  me,  the  girl,  the  woman  you 
say  you  love — will  be  inside,  shrinking,  loathing, 
hating,  sickened  to  death.  You  will  only  kiss — em 
brace  a  thing  you've  degraded.  The  warmth,  the 
sweetness,  the  quiver,  the  thrill,  the  response,  the 
life — all  that  is  the  soul  of  a  woman  and  makes  her 
lovable  will  be  murdered." 

Then  she  drew  still  closer  to  Kells,  and  with  all 
the  wondrous  subtlety  of  a  woman  in  a  supreme  mo 
ment  where  a  life  and  a  soul  hang  in  the  balance, 
she  made  of  herself  an  absolute  contrast  to  the  fierce, 
wild,  unyielding  creature  who  had  fought  him  off. 

"Let  me  show — you  the  difference,"  she  whis- 
127 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

pered,  leaning  to  him,  glowing,  soft,  eager,  terrible, 
with  her  woman's  charm.  "Something  tells  me— 
gives  me  strength.  .  .  .  What  might  be!  ...  Only 
barely  possible — if  in  my  awful  plight — you  turned 
out  to  be  a  man,  good  instead  of  bad !  .  .  .  And — if  it 
were  possible — see  the  difference — in  the  woman. 
...  I  show  you — to  save  my  soul!" 

She  gave  the  fascinated  Kells  her  hands,  slipped 
into  his  arms,  to  press  against  his  breast,  and  leaned 
against  him  an  instant,  all  one  quivering,  surrendered 
body ;  and  then  lifting  a  white  face,  true  in  its  radi 
ance  to  her  honest  and  supreme  purpose  to  give  him 
one  fleeting  glimpse  of  the  beauty  and  tenderness 
and  soul  of  love,  she  put  warm  and  tremulous  lips 
to  his. 

Then  she  fell  away  from  him,  shrinking  and  ter 
rified.  But  he  stood  there  as  if  something  beyond 
belief  had  happened  to  him,  and  the  evil  of  his 
face,  the  hard  lines,  the  brute  softened  and  vanished 
in  a  light  of  transformation. 

11  My  God!"  he  breathed,  softly.  Then  he  awak 
ened  as  if  from  a  trance,  and,  leaping  down  the 
steps,  he  violently  swept  aside  the  curtain  and  dis 
appeared. 

Joan  threw  herself  upon  the  bed  and  spent  the 
last  of  her  strength  in  the  relief  of  blinding  tears. 
She  had  won.  She  believed  she  need  never  fear 
Kells  again.  In  that  one  moment  of  abandon  she 
had  exalted  him.  But  at  what  cost! 


CHAPTER  X 

NEXT  day,  when  Kells  called  Joan  out  into  the 
other  cabin,  she  verified  her  hope  and  belief,  not 
so  much  in  the  almost  indefinable,  aging  and  sadness 
of  the  man,  as  in  the  strong  intuitive  sense  that  her 
attraction  had  magnified  for  him  and  had  uplifted 
him. 

"You  mustn't  stay  shut  up  in  there  any  longer," 
he  said.  ''You've  lost  weight  and  you're  pale.  Go 
out  in  the  air  and  sun.  You  might  as  well  get  used 
to  the  gang.  Bate  Wood  came  to  me  this  morning 
and  said  he  thought  you  were  the  ghost  of  Dandy 
Dale.  That  name  will  stick  to  you.  I  don't  care 
how  you  treat  my  men.  But  if  you're  friendly 
you'll  fare  better.  Don't  go  far  from  the  cabin. 
And  if  any  man  says  or  does  a  thing  you  don't  like- 
flash  your  gun.  Don't  yell  for  me.  You  can  bluff 
this  gang  to  a  standstill." 

That  was  a  trial  for  Joan,  when  she  walked  out 
into  the  light  in  Dandy  Dale's  clothes.  She  did  not 
step  very  straight,  and  she  could  feel  the  cold  prick 
of  her  face  under  the  mask.  It  was  not  shame,  but 
fear  that  gripped  her.  She  would  rather  die  than 
have  Jim  Cleve  recognize  her  in  that  bold  disguise. 
A  line  of  dusty  saddled  horses  stood  heads  and 
bridles  down  before  the  cabin,  and  a  number  of 

129 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

lounging  men  ceased  talking  when  she  appeared. 
It  was  a  crowd  that  smelled  of  dust  and  horses  and 
leather  and  whisky  and  tobacco.  Joan  did  not 
recognize  any  one  there,  which  fact  aided  her  in 
a  quick  recovery  of  her  composure.  Then  she  found 
amusement  in  the  absolute  sensation  she  made  upon 
these  loungers.  They  stared,  open-mouthed  and 
motionless.  One  old  fellow  dropped  his  pipe  from 
bearded  lips  and  did  not  seem  to  note  the  loss.  A  dark 
young  man,  dissipated  and  wild-looking,  with  years  of 
lawlessness  stamped  upon  his  face,  was  the  first  to 
move;  and  he,  with  awkward  gallantry,  doffed  his 
sombrero.  Then  others  greeted  her,  gruffly,  but 
with  amiable  disposition.  Joan  wanted  to  run,  yet 
she  forced  herself  to  stand  there,  apparently  uncon 
cerned  before  this  battery  of  bold  and  curious  eyes. 
That,  once  done,  made  the  rest  easier.  She  was  grate 
ful  for  the  mask.  And  with  her  first  low,  almost  in 
coherent  words,  in  reply  Joan  entered  upon  the  sec 
ond  phase  of  her  experience  with  these  bandits. 
Naturalness  did  not  come  soon,  but  it  did  come,  and 
with  it  her  wit  and  courage. 

Used  as  she  had  become  to  the  villainous  counte 
nances  of  the  border  ruffians,  she  yet  upon  closer  study 
discovered  wilder  and  more  abandoned  ones.  Yet 
despite  that,  and  a  brazen,  unconcealed  admiration, 
there  was  not  lacking  kindliness  and  sympathy  and 
good  nature.  Presently  Joan  sauntered  away,  and 
she  went  among  the  tired,  shaggy  horses  and  made 
friends  with  them.  An  occasional  rider  swung  up 
the  trail  to  dismount  before  Kells's  cabin,  and  once 
two  riders  rode  in,  both  staring — all  eyes — at  her. 
The  meaning  of  her  intent  alertness  dawned  upon 

130 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

her  then.  Always,  whatever  she  was  doing  or  think 
ing  or  saying,  behind  it  all  hid  the  driving  watch 
fulness  for  Jim  Cleve.  And  the  consciousness  of  this 
fixed  her  mind  upon  him.  Where  was  he?  What 
was  he  doing?  Was  he  drunk  or  gambling  or  fight 
ing  or  sleeping?  Was  he  still  honest?  When  she 
did  meet  him  what  would  happen?  How  could  she 
make  herself  and  circumstances  known  to  him  be 
fore  he  killed  somebody  ?  A  new  fear  had  birth  and 
grew — Cleve  would  recognize  her  in  that  disguise, 
mask  and  all. 

She  walked  up  and  down  for  a  while,  absorbed 
with  this  new  idea.  Then  an  unusual  commotion 
among  the  loungers  drew  her  attention  to  a  group 
of  men  on  foot  surrounding  and  evidently  escorting 
several  horsemen.  Joan  recognized  Red  Pearce  and 
Frenchy,  and  then,  with  a  start,  Jim  Cleve.  They 
were  riding  up  the  trail.  Joan's  heart  began  to 
pound.  She  could  not  meet  Jim;  she  dared  not 
trust  this  disguise ;  all  her  plans  were  as  if  they  had 
never  been.  She  forgot  Kells.  She  even  forgot  her 
fear  of  what  Cleve  might  do.  The  meeting — the 
inevitable  recognition — the  pain  Jim  Cleve  must 
suffer  when  the  fact  and  apparent  significance  of 
her  presence  there  burst  upon  him,  these  drove  all 
else  from  Joan's  mind.  Mask  or  no  mask,  she  could 
not  face  his  piercing  eyes,  and  like  a  little  coward 
she  turned  to  enter  the  cabin. 

Before  she  got  in,  however,  it  was  forced  upon  her 
that  something  unusual  had  roused  the  loungers. 
They  had  arisen  and  were  interested  in  the  approach 
ing  group.  Loud  talk  dinned  in  Joan's  ears.  Then 
she  went  in  the  door  as  Kells  stalked  by,  eyes  agleam, 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

without  even  noticing  her.  Once  inside  her  cabin, 
with  the  curtain  drawn,  Joan's  fear  gave  place  to 
anxiety  and  curiosity. 

There  was  no  one  in  the  large  cabin.  Through  the 
outer  door  she  caught  sight  of  a  part  of  the  crowd, 
close  together,  heads  up,  all  noisy.  Then  she  heard 
Kells's  authoritative  voice,  but  she  could  understand 
nothing.  The  babel  of  hoarse  voices  grew  louder. 
Kells  appeared,  entering  the  door  with  Pearce.  Jim 
Cleve  came  next,  and,  once  the  three  were  inside, 
the  crowd  spilled  itself  after  them  like  angry  bees. 
Kells  was  talking,  Pearce  was  talking,  but  their 
voices  were  lost.  Suddenly  Kells  vented  his  tem 
per. 

1  'Shut  up — the  lot  of  you!"  he  yelled,  and  his 
power  and  position  might  have  been  measured  by 
the  menace  he  showed. 

The  gang  became  suddenly  quiet. 

"Now — what's  up?"  demanded  Kells. 

"Keep  your  shirt  on,  boss,"  replied  Pearce,  with 
good  humor.  "There  ain't  much  wrong.  .  .  .  Cleve, 
here,  thro  wed  a  gun  on  Gulden,  that's  all." 

Kells  gave  a  slight  start,  barely  perceptible,  but 
the  intensity  of  it,  and  a  fleeting  tigerish  gleam 
across  his  face,  impressed  Joan  with  the  idea  that 
he  felt  a  fiendish  joy.  Her  own  heart  clamped  in  a 
cold  amaze. 

"Gulden!"  Kells's  exclamation  was  likewise  a 
passionate  query. 

"No,  he  ain't  cashed,"  replied  Pearce.  "You 
can't  kill  that  bull  so  easy.  But  he's  shot  up  some. 
He's  layin'  over  at  Beard's.  Reckon  you'd  better 
go  over  an'  dress  them  shots." 

132 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

"He  can  rot  before  I  doctor  him,"  replied  Kells. 
"Where's  Bate  Wood?  .  .  .  Bate,  you  can  take  my 
kit  and  go  fix  Gulden  up.  And  now,  Red,  what  was 
all  the  roar  about?" 

"Reckon  that  was  Gulden's  particular  pards  try- 
in'  to  mix  it  with  Cleve  an'  Cleve  tryin'  to  mix  it 
with  them — an'  me  in  between!  ...  I'm  here  to  say, 
boss,  that  I  had  a  time  stavin'  off  a  scrap." 

During  this  rapid  exchange  between  Kells  and 
his  lieutenant,  Jim  Cleve  sat  on  the  edge  of  the 
table,  one  dusty  boot  swinging  so  that  his  spur 
jangled,  a  wisp  of  a  cigarette  in  his  lips.  His  face 
was  white  except  where  there  seemed  to  be  bruises 
under  his  eyes.  Joan  had  never  seen  him  look  like 
this.  She  guessed  that  he  had  been  drunk — per 
haps  was  still  drunk.  That  utterly  abandoned  face 
Joan  was  so  keen  to  read  made  her  bite  her  tongue 
to  keep  from  crying  out.  Yes,  Jim  was  lost. 

"What'd  they  fight  about?"  queried  Kells. 

"Ask  Cleve,"  replied  Pearce.  "Reckon  I'd  just 
as  lief  not  talk  any  more  about  him." 

Then  Kells  turned  to  Cleve  and  stepped  before 
him.  Somehow  these  two  men  face  to  face  thrilled 
Joan  to  her  depths.  They  presented  such  contrasts. 
Kells  was  keen,  imperious,  vital,  strong,  and  com 
plex,  with  an  unmistakable  friendly  regard  for  this 
young  outcast.  Cleve  seemed  aloof,  detached,  in 
different  to  everything,  with  a  white,  weary,  reck 
less  scorn.  Both  men  were  far  above  the  gaping 
ruffians  around  them. 

"Cleve,  why'd  you  draw  on  Gulden?"  asked  Kells, 
sharply. 

"That's  my  business,"  replied  Cleve,  slowly,  and 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

with  his  piercing  eyes  on  Kells  he  blew  a  long,  thin, 
blue  stream  of  smoke  upward. 

"Sure.  .  .  .  But  I  remember  what  you  asked  me  the 
other  day — about  Gulden.  Was  that  why?" 

"Nope,"  replied  Cleve.     "This  was  my  affair." 

"All  right.  But  I'd  like  to  know.  Pearce  says 
you're  in  bad  with  Gulden's  friends.  If  I  can't  make 
peace  between  you  I'll  have  to  take  sides." 

"Kells,  I  don't  need  any  one  on  my  side,"  said 
Cleve,  and  he  flung  the  cigarette  away. 

1 '  Yes,  you  do, "  replied  Kells,  persuasively.  ' '  Every 
man  on  this  border  needs  that.  And  he's  lucky 
when  he  gets  it." 

"Well,  I  don't  ask  for  it;   I  don't  want  it." 

"That's  your  own  business,  too.  I'm  not  insist 
ing  or  advising." 

Kells' s  force  and  ability  to  control  men  mani 
fested  itself  in  his  speech  and  attitude.  Nothing 
could  have  been  easier  than  to  rouse  the  antagonism 
of  Jim  Cleve,  abnormally  responding  as  he  was  to 
the  wild  conditions  of  this  border  environment. 

"Then  you're  not  calling  my  hand?"  queried 
Cleve,  with  his  dark,  piercing  glance  on  Kells. 

"I  pass,  Jim,"  replied  the  bandit,  easily. 

Cleve  began  to  roll  another  cigarette.  Joan  saw 
his  strong,  brown  hands  tremble,  and  she  realized 
that  this  came  from  his  nervous  condition,  not 
from  agitation.  Her  heart  ached  for  him.  What  a 
white,  somber  face,  so  terribly  expressive  of  the 
overthrow  of  his  soul!  He  had  fled  to  the  border 
in  reckless  fury  at  her — at  himself.  There  in  its 
wildness  he  had,  perhaps,  lost  thought  of  himself 
and  memory  of  her.  He  had  plunged  into  the  un- 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

restrained  border  life.  Its  changing,  raw,  and  fate 
ful  excitement  might  have  made  him  forget,  but 
behind  all  was  the  terrible  seeking  to  destroy  and 
be  destroyed.  Joan  shuddered  when  she  remem 
bered  how  she  had  mocked  this  boy's  wounded  vanity 
— how  scathingly  she  had  said  he  did  not  possess 
manhood  and  nerve  enough  even  to  be  bad. 

1  'See  here,  Red,"  said  Kells  to  Pearce,  "tell  me 
what  happened — what  you  saw.  Jim  can't  object 
to  that." 

"Sure,"  replied  Pearce,  thus  admonished.  "We 
was  all  over  at  Beard's  an'  several  games  was  on. 
Gulden  rode  into  camp  last  night.  He's  always 
sore,  but  last  night  it  seemed  more  'n  usual.  But 
he  didn't  say  much  an'  no  thin'  happened.  We  all 
reckoned  his  trip  fell  through.  To-day  he  was  rest 
less.  He  walked  an'  walked  just  like  a  cougar  in  a 
pen.  You  know  how  Gulden  has  to  be  on  the  move. 
Well,  we  let  him  alone,  you  can  bet.  But  sudden- 
like  he  comes  up  to  our  table — me  an'  Cleve  an' 
Beard  an'  Texas  was  playin'  cards — an'  he  nearly 
kicks  the  table  over.  I  grabbed  the  gold  an'  Cleve 
he  saved  the  whisky.  We'd  been  drinkin'  an' 
Cleve  most  of  all.  Beard  was  white  at  the  gills 
with  rage  an'  Texas  was  soffocatin'.  But  we  all 
was  afraid  of  Gulden,  except  Cleve,  as  it  turned  out. 
But  he  didn't  move  or  look  mean.  An'  Gulden 
pounded  on  the  table  an'  addressed  himself  to 
Cleve. 

"I've  a  job  you'll  like.     Come  on.' 

"'Job?  Say,  man,  you  couldn't  have  a  job  I'd 
like,'  replied  Cleve,  slow  an'  cool. 

"You  know  how  Gulden  gets  when  them  spells 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

come  over  him.  It's  just  plain  cussedness.  I've 
seen  gun  -  fighters  lookin'  for  trouble  —  for  some 
one  to  kill.  But  Gulden  was  worse  than  that. 
You  all  take  my  hunch — he's  got  a  screw  loose  in 
his  nut! 

'"Cleve,'  he  said,  'I  located  the  Brander  gold- 
diggin's — an'  the  girl  was  there.' 

"Some  kind  of  a  white  flash  went  over  Cleve. 
An'  we  all,  rememberm'  Luce,  began  to  bend  low, 
ready  to  duck.  Gulden  didn't  look  no  different 
from  usual.  You  can't  see  any  change  in  him. 
But  I  for  one  felt  all  hell  burnin'  in  him. 

"  'Oho !  You  have,'  said  Cleve,  quick,  like  he  was 
pleased.  'An*  did  you  get  her?' 

"'Not  yet.  Just  looked  over  the  ground.  I'm 
pickin'  you  to  go  with  me.  We'll  split  on  the  gold, 
an'  I'll  take  the  girl.' 

"Cleve  swung  the  whisky-bottle  an'  it  smashed 
on  Gulden's  mug,  knockin'  him  flat.  Cleve  was  up, 
like  a  cat,  gun  burnin'  red.  The  other  fellers  were 
dodgin'  low.  An'  as  I  ducked  I  seen  Gulden,  flat 
on  his  back,  draggin'  at  his  gun.  He  stopped  short 
an'  his  hand  flopped.  The  side  of  his  face  went  all 
bloody.  I  made  sure  he'd  cashed,  so  I  leaped  up  an' 
grabbed  Cleve. 

"It  'd  been  all  right  if  Gulden  had  only  cashed. 
But  he  hadn't.  He  came  to  an'  bellered  fer  his  gun 
an'  fer  his  pards.  Why,  you  could  have  heard  him 
for  a  mile.  .  .  .  Then,  as  I  told  you,  I  had  trouble  in 
holdin'  back  a  general  mix-up.  An'  while  he  was 
hollerin'  about  it  I  led  them  all  over  to  you.  Gul 
den  is  layin'  back  there  with  his  ear  shot  off.  An* 
that's  all." 

136 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

Kells,  with  thoughtful  mien,  turned  from  Pearce  to 
the  group  of  dark-faced  men.  "This  fight  settles 
one  thing,"  he  said  to  them.  "We've  got  to  have 
organization.  If  you're  not  all  a  lot  of  fools  you'll 
see  that.  You  need  a  head.  Most  of  you  swear 
by  me,  but  some  of  you  are  for  Gulden.  Just  be 
cause  he's  a  bloody  devil.  These  times  are  the  wild 
est  the  West  ever  knew,  and  they're  growing  wilder. 
Gulden  is  a  great  machine  for  execution.  He  has 
no  sense  of  fear.  He's  a  giant.  He  loves  to  fight — 
to  kill.  But  Gulden's  all  but  crazy.  This  last  deal 
proves  that,  I  leave  it  to  your  common  sense. 
He  rides  around  hunting  for  some  lone  camp  to  rob. 
Or  some  girl  to  make  off  with.  He  does  not  plan 
with  me  or  the  men  whose  judgment  I  have  con 
fidence  in.  He's  always  without  gold.  And  so  are 
most  of  his  followers.  I  don't  know  who  they  are. 
And  I  don't  care.  But  here  we  split — unless  they 
and  Gulden  take  advice  and  orders  from  me.  I'm 
not  so  much  siding  with  Cleve.  Any  of  you  ought 
to  admit  that  Gulden's  kind  of  work  will  disorganize 
a  gang.  He's  been  with  us  for  long.  And  he  ap 
proaches  Cleve  with  a  job.  Cleve  is  a  stranger. 
He  may  belong  here,  but  he's  not  yet  one  of  us. 
Gulden  oughtn't  have  approached  him.  It  was  no 
straight  deal.  We  can't  figure  what  Gulden  meant 
exactly,  but  it  isn't  likely  he  wanted  Cleve  to  go. 
It  was  a  bluff.  He  got  called.  .  .  .  You  men  think 
this  over — whether  you'll  stick  to  Gulden  or  to  me. 
Clear  out  now." 

His  strong,  direct  talk  evidently  impressed  them, 
and  in  silence  they  crowded  out  of  the  cabin,  leaving 
Pearce  and  Cleve  behind. 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

"Jim,  are  you  just  hell-bent  on  fighting  or  do  you 
mean  to  make  yourself  the  champion  of  every  poor 
girl  in  these  wilds?" 

Cleve  puffed  a  cloud  of  smoke  that  enveloped  his 
head.  "I  don't  pick  quarrels,"  he  replied. 

"Then  you  get  red-headed  at  the  very  mention 
of  a  girl." 

A  savage  gesture  of  Cleve 's  suggested  that  Kells 
was  right. 

"Here,  don't  get  red-headed  at  me,"  called  Kells, 
with  piercing  sharpness.  "I'll  be  your  friend  if  you 
let  me.  .  .  .  But  declare  yourself  like  a  man — if  you 
want  me  for  a  friend!" 

"Kells,  I'm  much  obliged,"  replied  Cleve,  with  a 
semblance  of  earnestness.  "I'm  no  good  or  I 
wouldn't  be  out  here.  .  .  .  But  I  can't  stand  for  these 
— these  deals  with  girls." 

"You'll  change,"  rejoined  Kells,  bitterly.  "Wait 
till  you  live  a  few  lonely  years  out  here !  You  don't 
understand  the  border.  You're  young.  I've  seen  the 
gold-fields  of  California  and  Nevada.  Men  go  crazy 
with  the  gold  fever.  It's  gold  that  makes  men  wild. 
If  you  don't  get  killed  you'll  change.  If  you  live 
you'll  see  life  on  this  border.  War  debases  the 
moral  force  of  a  man,  but  nothing  like  what  you'll 
experience  here  the  next  few  years.  Men  with  their 
wives  and  daughters  are  pouring  into  this  range. 
They're  all  over.  They're  finding  gold.  They've 
tasted  blood.  Wait  till  the  great  gold  strike  comes ! 
Then  you'll  see  men  and  women  go  back  ten  thou 
sand  years.  .  .  .  And  then  what  '11  one  girl  more  or 
less  matter?" 

"Well,  you  see,  Kells,  I  was  loved  so  devotedly 

138 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

by  one  and  made  such  a  hero  of — that  I  just  can't 
bear  to  see  any  girl  mistreated." 

He  almost  drawled  the  words,  and  he  was  suave 
and  cool,  and  his  face  was  inscrutable,  but  a  bitter 
ness  in  his  tone  gave  the  lie  to  all  he  said  and  looked. 

Pearce  caught  the  broader  inference  and  laughed 
as  if  at  a  great  joke.  Kells  shook  his  head  doubt 
fully,  as  if  Cleve's  transparent  speech  only  added 
to  the  complexity.  And  Cleve  turned  away,  as  if 
in  an  instant  he  had  forgotten  his  comrades. 

Afterward,  in  the  silence  and  darkness  of  night, 
Joan  Randle  lay  upon  her  bed  sleepless,  haunted  by 
Jim's  white  face,  amazed  at  the  magnificent  madness 
of  him,  thrilled  to  her  soul  by  the  meaning  of  his 
attack  on  Gulden,  and  tortured  by  a  love  that  had 
grown  immeasurably  full  of  the  strength  of  these 
hours  of  suspense  and  the  passion  of  this  wild 
border. 

Even  in  her  dreams  Joan  seemed  to  be  bending 
all  her  will  toward  that  inevitable  and  fateful  mo 
ment  when  she  must  stand  before  Jim  Cleve.  It 
had  to  be.  Therefore  she  would  absolutely  compel 
herself  to  meet  it,  regardless  of  the  tumult  that 
must  rise  within  her.  When  all  had  been  said,  her 
experience  so  far  among  the  bandits,  in  spite  of  the 
shocks  and  suspense  that  had  made  her  a  different 
girl,  had  been  infinitely  more  fortunate  than  might 
have  been  expected.  She  prayed  for  this  luck  to 
continue  and  forced  herself  into  a  belief  that  it 
would. 

That  night  she  had  slept  in  Dandy  Dale's  clothes, 

»•  139 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

except  for  the  boots;  and  sometimes  while  turning 
in  restless  slumber  she  had  been  awakened  by  rolling 
on  the  heavy  gun,  which  she  had  not  removed  from 
the  belt.  And  at  such  moments  she  had  to  ponder 
in  the  darkness,  to  realize  that  she,  Joan  Randle, 
lay  a  captive  in  a  bandit's  camp,  dressed  in  a  dead 
bandit's  garb,  and  packing  his  gun — even  while  she 
slept.  It  was  such  an  improbable,  impossible  thing. 
Yet  the  cold  feel  of  the  polished  gun  sent  a  thrill 
of  certainty  through  her. 

In  the  morning  she  at  least  did  not  have  to  suffer 
the  shame  of  getting  into  Dandy  Dale's  clothes,  for 
she  was  already  in  them.  She  found  a  grain  of  com 
fort  even  in  that.  When  she  had  put  on  the  mask  and 
sombrero  she  studied  the  effect  in  her  little  mirror. 
And  she  again  decided  that  no  one,  not  even  Jim 
Cleve,  could  recognize  her  in  that  disguise.  Like 
wise  she  gathered  courage  from  the  fact  that  even 
her  best  girl  friend  would  have  found  her  figure  un 
familiar  and  striking  where  once  it  had  been  merely 
tall  and  slender  and  strong,  ordinarily  dressed. 
Then  how  would  Jim  Cleve  ever  recognize  her? 
She  remembered  her  voice  that  had  been  called  a 
contralto,  low  and  deep;  and  how  she  used  to  sing 
the  simple  songs  she  knew.  She  could  not  disguise 
that  voice.  But  she  need  not  let  Jim  hear  it.  Then 
there  was  a  return  of  the  idea  that  he  would  in 
stinctively  recognize  her — that  no  disguise  could  be 
proof  to  a  lover  who  had  ruined  himself  for  her. 
Suddenly  she  realized  how  futile  all  her  worry  and 
shame.  Sooner  or  later  she  must  reveal  her  identity 
to  Jim  Cleve.  Out  of  all  this  complexity  of  emotion 
Joan  divined  that  what  she  yearned  most  for  was  to 

140 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

spare  Cleve  the  shame  consequent  upon  recognition 
of  her  and  then  the  agony  he  must  suffer  at  a  false 
conception  of  her  presence  there.  It  was  a  weakness 
in  her.  When  death  menaced  her  lover  and  the  most 
inconceivably  horrible  situation  yawned  for  her,  still 
she  could  only  think  of  her  passionate  yearning  to 
have  him  know,  all  in  a  flash,  that  she  loved  him, 
that  she  had  followed  him  in  remorse,  that  she  was 
true  to  him  and  would  die  before  being  anything  else. 

And  when  she  left  her  cabin  she  was  in  a  mood 
to  force  an  issue. 

Kells  was  sitting  at  table  and  being  served  by 
Bate  Wood. 

"Hello,  Dandy!"  he  greeted  her,  in  surprise  and 
pleasure.  "This  's  early  for  you." 

Joan  returned  his  greeting  and  said  that  she  could 
not  sleep  all  the  time. 

"You're  coming  round.  I'll  bet  you  hold  up  a 
stage  before  a  month  is  out." 

"Hold  up  a  stage?"  echoed  Joan. 

"Sure.  It  11  be  great  fun,"  replied  Kells,  with  a 
laugh.  "Here — sit  down  and  eat  with  me.  .  .  .  Bate, 
come  along  lively  with  breakfast.  .  .  .  It's  fine  to  see 
you  there.  That  mask  changes  you,  though.  No 
one  can  see  how  pretty  you  are.  .  .  .  Joan,  your  ad 
mirer,  Gulden,  has  been  incapacitated  for  the 
present." 

Then  in  evident  satisfaction  Kells  repeated  the 
story  that  Joan  had  heard  Red  Pearce  tell  the  night 
before;  and  in  the  telling  Kells  enlarged  somewhat 
upon  Jim  Cleve. 

"I've  taken  a  liking  to  Cleve,"  said  Kells.  "He's 
a  strange  youngster.  But  he's  more  man  than  boy. 

141 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

I  think  he's  broken-hearted  over  some  rotten  girl 
who's  been  faithless  or  something.  Most  women 
are  no  good,  Joan.  A  while  ago  I'd  have  said  all 
women  were  that,  but  since  I've  known  you  I  think 
—I  know  different.  Still,  one  girl  out  of  a  million 
doesn't  change  a  world." 

"What  will  this  J-jim  C-cleve  do — when  he  sees 
— me?"  asked  Joan,  and  she  choked  over  the  name. 

"Don't  eat  so  fast,  girl,"  said  Kells.  "You're 
only  seventeen  years  old  and  you've  plenty  of 
time.  .  .  .  Well,  I've  thought  some  about  Cleve. 
He's  not  crazy  like  Gulden,  but  he's  just  as  danger 
ous.  He's  dangerous  because  he  doesn't  know  what 
he's  doing — has  absolutely  no  fear  of  death — and 
then  he's  swift  with  a  gun.  That's  a  bad  combina 
tion.  Cleve  will  kill  a  man  presently.  He's  shot 
three  already,  and  in  Gulden's  case  he  meant  to 
kill.  If  once  he  kills  a  man — that  '11  make  him  a 
gun-fighter.  I've  worried  a  little  about  his  seeing 
you.  But  I  can  manage  him,  I  guess.  He  can't 
be  scared  or  driven.  But  he  may  be  led.  I've  had 
Red  Pearce  tell  him  you  are  my  wife.  I  hope  he 
believes  it,  for  none  of  the  other  fellows  believe  it. 
Anyway,  you'll  meet  this  Cleve  soon,  maybe  to-day, 
and  I  want  you  to  be  friendly.  If  I  can  steady  him 
—stop  his  drinking — he'll  be  the  best  man  for  me  on 
this  border." 

"I'm  to  help  persuade  him  to  join  your  band?" 
asked  Joan,  and  she  could  not  yet  control  her  voice. 

"Is  that  so  black  a  thing?"  queried  Kells,  evi 
dently  nettled,  and  he  glared  at  her. 

1 ' I— I  don't  know,"  faltered  Joan.     ' ' Is  this— this 
boy  a  criminal  yet?" 

142 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

"No.  He's  only  a  fine,  decent  young  chap  gone 
wild — gone  bad  for  some  girl.  I  told  you  that. 
You  don't  seem  to  grasp  the  point.  If  I  can  control 
him  he'll  be  of  value  to  me — he'll  be  a  bold  and 
clever  and  dangerous  man — he'll  last  out  here.  If 
I  can't  win  him,  why,  he  won't  last  a  week  longer. 
He'll  be  shot  or  knifed  in  a  brawl.  Without  my 
control  Cleve  '11  go  straight  to  the  hell  he's  headed 
for." 

Joan  pushed  back  her  plate  and,  looking  up, 
steadily  eyed  the  bandit. 

"Kells,  I'd  rather  he  ended  his — his  career  quick 
— and  went  to — to — than  live  to  be  a  bandit  and 
murderer  at  your  command." 

Kells  laughed  mockingly,  yet  the  savage  action 
with  which  he  threw  his  cup  against  the  wall  attested 
to  the  fact  that  Joan  had  strange  power  to  hurt  him. 

"That's  your  sympathy,  because  I  told  you  some 
girl  drove  him  out  here,"  said  the  bandit.  "He's 
done  for.  You'll  know  that  the  moment  you  see 
him.  I  really  think  he  or  any  man  out  here  would 
be  the  better  for  my  interest.  Now,  I  want  to  know 
if  you'll  stand  by  me — put  in  a  word  to  help  influence 
this  wild  boy." 

"I'll— I'll  have  to  see  him  first,"  replied  Joan. 

"Well,  you  take  it  sort  of  hard,"  growled  Kells. 
Then  presently  he  brightened.  "I  seem  always  to 
forget  that  you're  only  a  kid.  Listen!  Now  you 
do  as  you  like.  But  I  want  to  warn  you  that  you've 
got  to  get  back  the  same  kind  of  nerve" — here  he 
lowered  his  voice  and  glanced  at  Bate  Wood — "that 
you  showed  when  you  shot  me.  You're  going  to 
see  some  sights.  ...  A  great  gold  strike!  Men 

H3 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

grown  gold-mad!  Women  of  no  more  account  than 
a  puff  of  cottonseed!  .  .  .  Hunger,  toil,  pain,  disease, 
starvation,  robbery,  blood,  murder,  hanging,  death — 
all  nothing,  nothing!  There  will  be  only  gold. 
Sleepless  nights — days  of  hell — rush  and  rush — all 
strangers  with  greedy  eyes!  The  things  that  made 
life  will  be  forgotten  and  life  itself  will  be  cheap. 
There  will  be  only  that  yellow  stuff — gold — over 
which  men  go  mad  and  women  sell  their  souls!" 

After  breakfast  Kells  had  Joan's  horse  brought 
out  of  the  corral  and  saddled. 

"You  must  ride  some  eve-ry  day.  You  must 
keep  in  condition,"  he  said.  "Pretty  soon  we  may 
have  a  chase,  and  I  don't  want  it  to  tear  you  to 
pieces." 

"Where  shall  I  ride?"  asked  Joan. 

"Anywhere  you  like  up  and  down  the  gulch." 

"Are  you  going  to  have  me  watched?" 

"Not  if  you  say  you  won't  run  off." 

"You  trust  me?" 

"Yes." 

"All  right.  I  promise.  And  if  I  change  my  mind 
I'll  tell  you." 

"Lord!  don't  do  it,  Joan.  I — I—  Well,  you've 
come  to  mean  a  good  deal  to  me.  I  don't  know  what 
I'd  do  if  I  lost  you."  As  she  mounted  the  horse 
Kells  added,  "Don't  stand  any  raw  talk  from  any 
of  the  gang." 

Joan  rode  away,  pondering  in  mind  the  strange 
fact  that  though  she  hated  this  bandit,  yet  she  had 
softened  toward  him.  His  eyes  lit  when  he  saw  her; 
his  voice  mellowed;  his  manner  changed.  He  had 

144 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

meant  to  tell  her  again  that  he  loved  her,  yet  he  con 
trolled  it.  Was  he  ashamed  ?  Had  he  seen  into  the 
depths  of  himself  and  despised  what  he  had  im 
agined  love?  There  were  antagonistic  forces  at  war 
within  him. 

It  was  early  morning  and  a  rosy  light  tinged  the 
fresh  green.  She  let  the  eager  horse  break  into  a 
canter  and  then  a  gallop ;  and  she  rode  up  the  gulch 
till  the  trail  started  into  rough  ground.  Then  turn 
ing,  she  went  back,  down  under  the  pines  and  by  the 
cabins,  to  where  the  gulch  narrowed  its  outlet  rnto 
the  wide  valley.  Here  she  met  several  dusty  horse 
men  driving  a  pack-train.  One,  a  jovial  ruffian, 
threw  up  his  hands  in  mock  surrender. 

"Hands  up,  pards!"  he  exclaimed.  "Reckon 
we've  run  agin'  Dandy  Dale  come  to  life." 

His  companions  made  haste  to  comply  and  then 
the  three  regarded  her  with  bold  and  roguish  eyes. 
Joan  had  run  square  into  them  round  a  corner  of 
slope  and,  as  there  was  no  room  to  pass,  she  had 
halted. 

"Shore  it's  the  Dandy  Dale  we  heerd  of,"  vouch 
safed  another. 

"Thet's  Dandy's  outfit  with  a  girl  inside,"  added 
the  third. 

Joan  wheeled  her  horse  and  rode  back  up  the 
trail.  The  glances  of  these  ruffians  seemed  to  scorch 
her  with  the  reality  of  her  appearance.  She  wore 
a  disguise,  but  her  womanhood  was  more  manifest 
in  it  than  in  her  feminine  garb.  It  attracted  the 
bold  glances  of  these  men.  If  there  were  any  pos 
sible  decency  among  them,  this  outrageous  bandit 
costume  rendered  it  null.  How  could  she  ever  con- 


THE    BORDERLEGION 

tinue  to  wear  it?  Would  not  something  good  and 
sacred  within  her  be  sullied  by  a  constant  exposure 
to  the  effect  she  had  upon  these  vile  border  men? 
She  did  not  think  it  could  while  she  loved  Jim  Cleve ; 
and  with  thought  of  him  came  a  mighty  throb  of 
her  heart  to  assure  her  that  nothing  mattered  if 
only  she  could  save  him. 

Upon  the  return  trip  up  the  gulch  Joan  found  men 
in  sight  leading  horses,  chopping  wood,  stretching 
arms  in  cabin  doors.  Joan  avoided  riding  near 
them,  yet  even  at  a  distance  she  was  aware  of  their 
gaze.  One  rowdy,  half  hidden  by  a  window,  curved 
hands  round  his  mouth  and  called,  softly,  "Hullo, 
sweetheart!" 

Joan  was  ashamed  that  she  could  feel  insulted. 
She  was  amazed  at  the  temper  which  seemed  roused 
in  her.  This  border  had  caused  her  feelings  she 
had  never  dreamed  possible  to  her.  Avoiding  the 
trail,  she  headed  for  the  other  side  of  the  gulch. 
There  were  clumps  of  willows  along  the  brook 
through  which  she  threaded  a  way,  looking  for  a  good 
place  to  cross.  The  horse  snorted  for  water.  Ap 
parently  she  was  not  going  to  find  any  better  cross 
ing,  so  she  turned  the  horse  into  a  narrow  lane 
through  the  willows  and,  dismounting  on  a  mossy 
bank,  she  slipped  the  bridle  so  the  horse  could 
drink. 

Suddenly  she  became  aware  that  she  was  not 
alone.  But  she  saw  no  one  in  front  of  her  or  on  the 
other  side  of  her  horse.  Then  she  turned.  Jim 
Cleve  was  in  the  act  of  rising  from  his  knees.  He  had 
a  towel  in  his  hand.  His  face  was  wet.  He  stood 
no  more  than  ten  steps  from  her. 

146 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

Joan  could  not  have  repressed  a  little  cry  to  save 
her  life.  The  surprise  was  tremendous.  She  could 
not  move  a  finger.  She  expected  to  hear  him  call 
her  name. 

Cleve  stared  at  her.  His  face,  in  the  morning 
light,  was  as  drawn  and  white  as  that  of  a  corpse. 
Only  his  eyes  seemed  alive  and  they  were  flames. 
A  lightning  flash  of  scorn  leaped  to  them.  He  only 
recognized  in  her  a  woman,  and  his  scorn  was  for 
the  creature  that  bandit  garb  proclaimed  her  to  be. 
A  sad  and  bitter  smile  crossed  his  face;  and  then  it 
was  followed  by  an  expression  that  was  a  lash  upon 
Joan's  bleeding  spirit.  He  looked  at  her  shapely 
person  with  something  of  the  brazen  and  evil  glance 
that  had  been  so  revolting  to  her  in  the  eyes  of  those 
ruffians.  That  was  the  unexpected — the  impossible 
— in  connection  with  Jim  Cleve.  How  could  she 
stand  there  under  it — and  live  ? 

She  jerked  at  the  bridle,  and,  wading  blindly  across 
the  brook,  she  mounted  somehow,  and  rode  with 
blurred  sight  back  to  the  cabin.  Kells  appeared 
busy  with  men  outside  and  did  not  accost  her.  She 
fled  to  her  cabin  and  barricaded  the  door. 

Then  she  hid  her  face  on  her  bed,  covered  herself 
to  shut  out  the  light,  and  lay  there,  broken-hearted. 
What  had  been  that  other  thing  she  had  imagined 
was  shame — that  shrinking  and  burning  she  had  suf 
fered  through  Kells  and  his  men?  What  was  that 
compared  to  this  awful  thing?  A  brand  of  red-hot 
pitch,  blacker  and  bitterer  than  death,  had  been 
struck  brutally  across  her  soul.  By  the  man  she 
loved — whom  she  would  have  died  to  save!  Jim 
Cleve  had  seen  in  her  only  an  abandoned  creature  of 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

the  camps.  His  sad  and  bitter  smile  had  been  for 
the  thought  that  he  could  have  loved  anything  of  her 
sex.  His  scorn  had  been  for  the  betrayed  youth 
and  womanhood  suggested  by  her  appearance. 
And  then  the  thing  that  struck  into  Joan's  heart 
was  the  fact  that  her  grace  and  charm  of  person, 
revealed  by  this  costume  forced  upon  her,  had 
roused  Jim  Cleve's  first  response  to  the  evil  surround 
ing  him,  the  first  call  to  that  baseness  he  must  be 
assimilating  from  these  border  ruffians.  That  he 
could  look  at  her  so !  The  girl  he  had  loved !  Joan's 
agony  lay  not  in  the  circumstance  of  his  being  as 
mistaken  in  her  character  as  he  had  been  in  her 
identity,  but  that  she,  of  all  women,  had  to  be  the 
one  who  made  him  answer,  like  Kells  and  Gulden 
and  all  those  ruffians,  to  the  instincts  of  a  beast. 

"Oh,  he'd  been  drunk — he  was  drunk!"  whispered 
Joan.  "He  isn't  to  be  blamed.  He's  not  my  old 
Jim.  He's  suffering — he's  changed — he  doesn't  care. 
What  could  I  expect — standing  there  like  a  hussy 
before  him — in  this — this  indecent  rig?  ...  I  must 
see  him.  I  must  tell  him.  If  he  recognized  me 
now — and  I  had  no  chance  to  tell  him  why  I'm  here 
— why  I  look  like  this — that  I  love  him — am  still 
good — and  true  to  him — if  I  couldn't  tell  him  I'd — 
I'd  shoot  myself!" 

Joan  sobbed  out  the  final  words  and  then  broke 
down.  And  when  the  spell  had  exercised  its  sway, 
leaving  her  limp  and  shaken  and  weak,  she  was  the 
better  for  it.  Slowly  calmness  returned  so  that  she 
could  look  at  her  wild  and  furious  rush  from  the  spot 
where  she  had  faced  Jim  Cleve,  at  the  storm  of 
shame  ending  in  her  collapse.  She  realized  that  if 

148 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

she  had  met  Jim  Cleve  here  in  the  dress  in  which  she 
had  left  home  there  would  have  been  the  same  shock 
of  surprise  and  fear  and  love.  She  owed  part  of  that 
breakdown  to  the  suspense  she  had  been  under  and 
then  the  suddenness  of  the  meeting.  Looking  back 
at  her  agitation,  she  felt  that  it  had  been  natural — 
that  if  she  could  only  tell  the  truth  to  Jim  Cleve  the 
situation  was  not  impossible.  But  the  meeting,  and 
all  following  it,  bore  tremendous  revelation  of  how 
through  all  this  wild  experience  she  had  learned  to 
love  Jim  Cleve.  But  for  his  reckless  flight  and  her 
blind  pursuit,  and  then  the  anxiety,  fear,  pain,  toil, 
and  despair,  she  would  never  have  known  her 
woman's  heart  and  its  capacity  for  love. 


CHAPTER  XI 

FOLLOWING  that  meeting,  with  all  its  power  to 
change  and  strengthen  Joan,  there  were  un 
eventful  days  in  which  she  rode  the  gulch  trails 
and  grew  able  to  stand  the  jests  and  glances  of  the 
bandit's  gang.  She  thought  she  saw  and  heard 
everything,  yet  insulated  her  true  self  in  a  callous 
and  unreceptive  aloofness  from  all  that  affronted  her. 

The  days  were  uneventful  because,  while  always 
looking  for  Jim  Cleve,  she  never  once  saw  him. 
Several  times  she  heard  his  name  mentioned.  He 
was  here  and  there — at  Beard's,  off  in  the  mountains. 
But  he  did  not  come  to  Kells's  cabin,  which  fact, 
Joan  gathered,  had  made  Kells  anxious.  He  did  not 
want  to  lose  Cleve.  Joan  peered  from  her  covert 
in  the  evenings,  and  watched  for  Jim,  and  grew 
weary  of  the  loud  talk  and  laughter,  the  gambling 
and  smoking  and  drinking.  When  there  seemed  no 
more  chance  of  Cleve 's  coming,  then  Joan  went  to 
bed. 

On  these  occasions  Joan  learned  that  Kells  was 
passionately  keen  to  gamble,  that  he  was  a  weak 
hand  at  cards,  an  honest  gambler,  and,  strangely 
enough,  a  poor  loser.  Moreover,  when  he  lost  he 
drank  heavily,  and  under  the  influence  of , drink  h.3 
was  dangerous.  There  were  quarrels  when  curses 

150 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

rang  throughout  the  cabin,  when  guns  were  drawn; 
but  whatever  Kells's  weaknesses  might  be,  he  was 
strong  and  implacable  in  the  governing  of  these 
men. 

That  night  when  Gulden  strode  into  the  cabin  was 
certainly  not  uneventful  for  Joan.  Sight  of  him 
sent  a  chill  to  her  marrow  while  a  strange  thrill  of 
fire  inflamed  her.  Was  that  great  hulk  of  a  gorilla 
prowling  about  to  meet  Jim  Cleve?  Joan  thought 
that  it  might  be  the  worse  for  him  if  he  were.  Then 
she  shuddered  a  little  to  think  that  she  had  already 
been  influenced  by  the  wildness  around  her. 

Gulden  appeared  well  and  strong,  and  but  for  the 
bandage  on  his  head  would  have  been  as  she  re 
membered  him.  He  manifested  interest  in  the 
gambling,  but  he  returned  the  friendly  greetings  of 
the  players  by  surly  grunts.  Presently  he  said  some 
thing  to  Kells. 

"What?"  queried  the  bandit,  sharply,  wheeling, 
the  better  to  see  Gulden. 

The  noise  subsided.  One  gamester  laughed  know 
ingly. 

"Lend  me  a  sack  of  dust?"  asked  Gulden. 

Kells's  face  showed  amaze  and  then  a  sudden 
brightness. 

"What!    You  want  gold  from  me?" 

"Yes.     I'll  pay  it  back." 

"Gulden,  I  wasn't  doubting  that.  But  does  your 
asking  mean  you've  taken  kindly  to  my  proposi 
tion?" 

"You  can  take  it  that  way,"  growled  Gulden. 
"I  want  gold." 

"I'm  mighty  glad,  Gulden,"  replied  Kells,  and  he 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

looked  as  if  he  meant  it.     "I  need  you.     We  ought 
to  get  along.  .  .  .  Here." 

He  handed  a  small  buckskin  sack  to  Gulden. 
Some  one  made  room  for  him  on  the  other  side  of  the 
table,  and  the  game  was  resumed.  It  was  interesting 
to  watch  them  gamble.  Red  Pearce  had  a  scale  at 
his  end  of  the  table,  and  he  was  always  measuring 
and  weighing  out  gold-dust.  The  value  of  the  gold 
appeared  to  be  fifteen  dollars  to  the  ounce,  but  the 
real  value  of  money  did  not  actuate  the  gamblers. 
They  spilled  the  dust  on  the  table  and  ground  as  if  it 
were  as  common  as  sand.  Still  there  did  not  seem 
to  be  any  great  quantity  of  gold  in  sight.  Evidently 
these  were  not  profitable  times  for  the  bandits. 
More  than  once  Joan  heard  them  speak  of  a  gold 
strike  as  honest  people  spoke  of  good  fortune.  And 
these  robbers  could  only  have  meant  that  in  case  of  a 
rich  strike  there  would  be  gold  to  steal.  Gulden 
gambled  as  he  did  everything  else.  At  first  he  won 
and  then  he  lost,  and  then  he  borrowed  more  from 
Kells,  to  win  again.  He  paid  back  as  he  had  bor 
rowed  and  lost  and  won — without  feeling.  He  had 
no  excitement.  Joan's  intuition  convinced  her  that 
if  Gulden  had  any  motive  at  all  in  gambling  it  was 
only  an  antagonism  to  men  of  his  breed.  Gambling 
was  a  contest,  a  kind  of  fight. 

Most  of  the  men  except  Gulden  drank  heavily 
that  night.  There  had  been  fresh  liquor  come  with 
the  last  pack-train.  Many  of  them  were  drunk 
when  the  game  broke  up.  Red  Pearce  and  Wood 
remained  behind  with  Kells  after  the  others  had 
gone,  and  Pearce  was  clever  enough  to  cheat  Kells 
before  he  left. 

152 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

"Boss — thet  there  Red  double-crossed  you,"  said 
Bate  Wood. 

Kells  had  lost  heavily,  and  he  was  under  the  in 
fluence  of  drink.  He  drove  Wood  out  of  the  cabin, 
cursing  him  sullenly.  Then  he  put  in  place  the 
several  bars  that  served  as  a  door  of  his  cabin.  After 
that  he  walked  unsteadily  around,  and  all  about  his 
action  and  manner  that  was  not  aimless  seemed 
to  be  dark  and  intermittent  staring  toward  Joan's 
cabin.  She  felt  sickened  again  with  this  new  aspect 
of  her  situation,  but  she  was  not  in  the  least  afraid 
of  Kells.  She  watched  him  till  he  approached  her 
door  and  then  she  drew  back  a  little.  He  paused 
before  the  blanket  as  if  he  had  been  impelled  to  halt 
from  fear.  He  seemed  to  be  groping  in  thought. 
Then  he  cautiously  and  gradually,  by  degrees,  drew 
aside  the  blanket.  He  could  not  see  Joan  in  the 
darkness,  but  she  saw  him  plainly.  He  fumbled  at 
the  poles,  and,  finding  that  he  could  not  budge  them, 
he  ceased  trying.  There  was  nothing  forceful  or 
strong  about  him,  such  as  was  manifest  when  he  was 
sober.  He  stood  there  a  moment,  breathing  heavily, 
in  a  kind  of  forlorn,  undecided  way,  and  then  he 
turned  back.  Joan  heard  him  snap  the  lanterns. 
The  lights  went  out  and  all  grew  dark  and  silent. 

Next  morning  at  breakfast  he  was  himself  again, 
and  if  he  had  any  knowledge  whatever  of  his  actions 
while  he  was  drunk,  he  effectually  concealed  it  from 
Joan. 

Later,  when  Joan  went  outside  to  take  her  usual 
morning  exercise,  she  was  interested  to  see  a  rider 
tearing  up  the  slope  on  a  foam-flecked  horse.  Men 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

shouted  at  him  from  the  cabins  and  then  followed 
without  hats  or  coats.  Bate  Wood  dropped  Joan's 
saddle  and  called  to  Kells.  The  bandit  came  hur 
riedly  out. 

"Blicky!"  he  exclaimed,  and  then  he  swore  under 
his  breath  in  elation. 

"Shore  is  Blicky!"  said  Wood,  and  his  unusually 
mild  eyes  snapped  with  a  glint  unpleasant  for  Joan 
to  see. 

The  arrival  of  this  Blicky  appeared  to  be  occasion 
for  excitement  and  Joan  recalled  the  name  as  be 
longing  to  one  of  Kells's  trusted  men.  He  swung  his 
leg  and  leaped  from  his  saddle  as  the  horse  plunged 
to  a  halt.  Blicky  was  a  lean,  bronzed  young  man, 
scarcely  out  of  his  teens,  but  there  were  years  of 
hard  life  in  his  face.  He  slapped  the  dust  in  little 
puffs  from  his  gloves.  At  sight  of  Kells  he  threw  the 
gloves  aloft  and  took  no  note  of  them  when  they  fell. 
"Strike!"  he  called,  piercingly. 

"No!"  ejaculated  Kells,  intensely. 

Bate  Wood  let  out  a  whoop  which  was  answered 
by  the  men  hurrying  up  the  slope. 

* '  Been  on — for  weeks !"  panted  Blicky.  ' '  It's  JDig. 
Can't  tell  how  big.  Me  an'  Jesse  Smith  an'  Handy 
Oliver  hit  a  new  road — over  here  fifty  miles  as  a 
crow  flies — a  hundred  by  trail.  We  was  plumb  sur 
prised.  An'  when  we  met  pack-trains  an'  riders  an' 
prairie-schooners  an'  a  stage-coach  wejknew  there 
was  doin's  over  iig.  the  Bear  Mountain  range.  When 
we  came  to  the  edge  of  the  diggin's  an'  seen  a  whalin' 
big  camp — like  a  beehive — Jesse  an'  Handy  went 
on  to  get  the  lay  of  the  land  an'  I  hit  the  trail  back 
to  you.  I've  been  a-comin'  on  an'  off  since  before 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

sundown  yesterday.  .  .  .  Jesse  gave  one  look  an'  then 
hollered.  He  said,  'Tell  Jack  it's  big  an'  he  wants  to 
plan  big.  Well  be  back  there  in  a  day  or  so  with 
all  details." 

Joan  watched  Kells  intently  while  he  listened  to 
this  breathless  narrative  of  a  gold  strike,  and  she 
was  repelled  by  the  singular  flash  of  brightness — a 
radiance — that  seemed  to  be  in  his  eyes  and  on  his 
face.  He  did  not  say  a  word,  but  his  men  shouted 
hoarsely  around  Blicky.  He  walked  a  few  paces  to 
and  fro  with  hands  strongly  clenched,  his  lips 
slightly  parted,  showing  teeth  close-shut  like  those 
of  a  mastiff.  He  looked  eager,  passionate,  cun 
ning,  hard  as  steel,  and  that  strange  brightness 
of  elation  slowly  shaded  to  a  dark,  brooding  men 
ace.  Suddenly  he  wheeled  to  silence  the  noisy 
men. 

" Where  're  Pearce  and  Gulden?  Do  they  know?" 
he  demanded. 

"Reckon  no  one  knows  but  who's  right  here," 
replied  Blicky. 

"Red  an'  Gul  are  sleepin'  off  last  night's  luck," 
said  Bate  Wood. 

"Have  any  of  you  seen  young  Cleve?"  Kells  went 
on.  His  voice  rang  quick  and  sharp. 

No  one  spoke,  and  presently  Kells  cracked  his  fist 
into  his  open  hand. 

"Come  on.  Get  the  gang  together  at  Beard's.  .  . 
Boys,  the  time  we've  been  gambling  on  has  come. 
Jesse  Smith  saw  '49  and  '51.  He  wouldn't  send 
me  word  like  this — unless  there  was  hell  to  pay.  .  .  . 
Come  on!" 

He  strode  off  down  the  slope  with  the  men  close 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

around  him,  and  they  met  other  men  on  the  way, 
all  of  whom  crowded  into  the  group,  jostling,  eager, 
gesticulating. 

Joan  was  left  alone.  She  felt  considerably  per 
turbed,  especially  at  Kells 's  sharp  inquiry  for  Jim 
Cleve.  Kells  might  persuade  him  to  join  that  bandit 
legion.  These  men  made  Joan  think  of  wolves,  with 
Kells  the  keen  and  savage  leader.  No  one  had 
given  a  thought  to  Blicky's  horse  and  that  neglect 
in  border  men  was  a  sign  of  unusual  preoccupation. 
The  horse  was  in  bad  shape.  Joan  took  off  his 
saddle  and  bridle,  and  rubbed  the  dust-caked  lather 
from  his  flanks,  and  led  him  into  the  corral.  Then 
she  fetched  a  bucket  of  water  and  let  him  drink 
sparingly,  a  little  at  a  time. 

Joan  did  not  take  her  ride  that  morning.  Anxious 
and  curious,  she  waited  for  the  return  of  Kells. 
But  he  did  not  come.  All  afternoon  Joan  waited 
and  watched,  and  saw  no  sign  of  him  or  any  of  the 
other  men.  She  knew  Kells  was  forging  with  red- 
hot  iron  and  blood  that  organization  which  she  un- 
designedly  had  given  a  name — the  Border  Legion. 
It  would  be  a  terrible  legion,  of  that  she  was  assured. 
Kells  was  the  evil  genius  to  create  an  unparalleled 
scheme  of  crime;  this  wild  and  remote  border,  with 
its  inaccessible  fastness  for  hiding-places,  was  the 
place;  all  that  was  wanting  was  the  time,  which 
evidently  had  arrived.  She  remembered  how  her 
uncle  had  always  claimed  that  the  Bear  Mountain 
range  would  see  a  gold  strike  which  would  disrupt 
the  whole  West  and  amaze  the  world.  And  Blicky 
had  said  a  big  strike  had  been  on  for  weeks.  Kells's 
prophecy  of  the  wild  life  Joan  would  see  had  not 

156 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

been  without  warrant.  She  had  already  seen  enough 
to  whiten  her  hair,  she  thought,  yet  she  divined  her 
experience  would  shrink  in  comparison  with  what 
was  to  come.  Always  she  lived  in  the  future.  She 
spent  sleeping  and  waking  hours  in  dreams,  thoughts, 
actions,  breedings,  over  all  of  which  hung  an  ever- 
present  shadow  of  suspense.  When  would  she  meet 
Jim  Cleve  again?  When  would  he  recognize  her? 
What  would  he  do?  What  could  she  do?  Would 
Kells  be  a  devil  or  a  man  at  the  end?  Was  there 
any  justification  of  her  haunting  fear  of  Gulden — 
of  her  suspicion  that  she  alone  was  the  cause  of  his 
attitude  toward  Kells — of  her  horror  at  the  un 
shakable  presentiment  and  fancy  that  he  was  a 
gorilla  and  meant  to  make  off  with  her  ?  These,  and 
a  thousand  other  fears,  some  groundless,  but  many 
real  and  present,  besieged  Joan  and  left  her  little 
peace.  What  would  happen  next? 

Toward  sunset  she  grew  tired  of  waiting,  and 
hungry,  besides,  so  she  went  into  the  cabin  and 
prepared  her  own  meal.  About  dark  Kells  strode  in, 
and  it  took  but  a  glance  for  Joan  to  see  that  matters 
had  not  gone  to  his  liking.  The  man  seemed  to  be 
burning  inwardly.  Sight  of  Joan  absolutely  sur 
prised  him.  Evidently  in  the  fever  of  this  mo 
mentous  hour  he  had  forgotten  his  prisoner.  Then, 
whatever  his  obsession,  he  looked  like  a  man  whose 
eyes  were  gladdened  at  sight  of  her  and  who  was 
sorry  to  behold  her  there.  He  apologized  that  her 
supper  had  not  been  provided  for  her  and  explained 
that  he  had  forgotten.  The  men  had  been  crazy- 
hard  to  manage — the  issue  was  not  yet  settled.  He 
spoke  gently.  Suddenly  he  had  that  thoughtful 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

mien  which  Joan  had  become  used  to  associating 
with  weakness  in  him. 

"I  wish  I  hadn't  dragged  you  here,"  he  said, 
taking  her  hands.  "It's  too  late.  I  can't  lose  you. 
.  .  .  But  the — other  way — isn't  too  late!" 

"What  way?     What  do  you  mean?"  asked  Joan. 

"Girl,  will  you  ride  off  with  me  to-night?"  he 
whispered,  hoarsely.  "I  swear  I'll  marry  you — and 
become  an  honest  man.  To-morrow  will  be  too  late ! 
.  .  .Will  you?" 

Joan  shook  her  head.  She  was  sorry  for  him. 
When  he  talked  like  this  he  was  not  Kells,  the  bandit. 
She  could  not  resist  a  strange  agitation  at  the  in 
tensity  of  his  emotion.  One  moment  he  had  en 
tered — a  bandit  leader,  planning  blood,  murder; 
the  next,  as  his  gaze  found  her,  he  seemed  weakened, 
broken,  in  the  shaking  grip  of  a  hopeless  love  for  her. 

"Speak,  Joan!"  he  said,  with  his  hands  tightening 
and  his  brow  clouding. 

"No,  Kells,  "she  replied. 

"Why?     Because  I'm  a  red-handed  bandit?" 

"No.     Because  I — I  don't  love  you." 

"But  wouldn't  you  rather  be  my  wife — and  have 
me  honest — than  become  a  slave  here,  eventually 
abandoned  to — to  Gulden  and  his  cave  and  his  rope?" 
Kells 's  voice  rose  as  that  other  side  of  him  gained 
dominance. 

"Yes,  I  would.  .  .  .  But  I  know  you'll  never  harm 
me — or  abandon  me  to — to  that  Gulden." 

" How  do  you  know?"  he  cried,  with  the  blood 
thick  at  his  temples. 

"Because  you're  no  beast  any  more.  .  .  .  And  you 
— you  do  love  me." 

158 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

Kells  thrust  her  from  him  so  fiercely  that  she 
nearly  fell. 

"I'll  get  over  it.  ...  Then  look  out!"  he  said,  with 
dark  bitterness. 

With  that  he  waved  her  back,  apparently  ordering 
her  to  her  cabin,  and  turned  to  the  door,  through 
which  the  deep  voices  of  men  sounded  nearer  and 
nearer. 

Joan  stumbled  in  the  darkness  up  the  rude  steps 
to  her  room,  and,  softly  placing  the  poles  in  readiness 
to  close  her  door,  she  composed  herself  to  watch 
and  wait.  The  keen  edge  of  her  nerves,  almost 
amounting  to  pain,  told  her  that  this  night  of  such 
moment  for  Kells  would  be  one  of  singular  strain 
and  significance  for  her.  But  why  she  could  not 
fathom.  She  felt  herself  caught  by  the  changing 
tide  of  events — a  tide  that  must  sweep  her  on  to 
flood.  Kells  had  gone  outside.  The  strong,  deep 
voices  grew  less  distinct.  Evidently  the  men  were 
walking  away.  In  her  suspense  Joan  was  disap 
pointed.  Presently,  however,  they  returned;  they 
had  been  walking  to  and  fro.  After  a  few  moments 
Kells  entered  alone.  The  cabin  was  now  so  dark 
that  Joan  could  barely  distinguish  the  bandit. 
Then  he  lighted  the  lanterns.  He  hung  up  several 
on  the  wall  and  placed  two  upon  the  table.  From 
somewhere  among  his  effects  he  produced  a  small 
book  and  a  pencil;  these,  with  a  heavy,  gold- 
mounted  gun,  he  laid  on  the  table  before  the  seat 
he  manifestly  meant  to  occupy.  That  done,  he 
began  a  slow  pacing  up  and  down  the  room,  his 
hands  behind  his  back,  his  head  bent  in  deep  and 
absorbing  thought.  What  a  dark,  sinister,  plotting 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

figure!  Joan  had  seen  many  men  in  different  atti 
tudes  of  thought,  but  here  was  a  man  whose  mind 
seemed  to  give  forth  intangible  yet  terrible  mani 
festations  of  evil.  The  inside  of  that  gloomy  cabin 
took  on  another  aspect;  there  was  a  meaning  in  the 
saddles  and  bridles  and  weapons  on  the  wall;  that 
book  and  pencil  and  gun  seemed  to  contain  the  dark 
deeds  of  wild  men;  and  all  about  the  bandit  hovered 
a  power  sinister  in  its  menace  to  the  unknown  and 
distant  toilers  for  gold. 

Kells  lifted  his  head,  as  if  listening,  and  then  the 
whole  manner  of  the  man  changed.  The  burden 
that  weighed  upon  him  was  thrown  aside.  Like  a 
general  about  to  inspect  a  line  of  soldiers  Kells 
faced  the  door,  keen,  stern,  commanding.  The 
heavy  tread  of  booted  men,  the  clink  of  spurs,  the 
low,  muffled  sound  of  voices,  warned  Joan  that  the 
gang  had  arrived.  Would  Jim  Cleve  be  among 
them? 

Joan  wanted  a  better  position  in  which  to  watch 
and  listen.  She  thought  a  moment,  and  then  care 
fully  felt  her  way  around  to  the  other  side  of  the 
steps,  and  here,  sitting  down  with  her  feet  hanging 
over  the  drop,  she  leaned  against  the  wall  and  through 
a  chink  between  the  logs  had  a  perfect  view  of  the 
large  cabin.  The  men  were  filing  in  silent  and  in 
tense.  Joan  counted  twenty-seven  in  all.  They 
appeared  to  fall  into  two  groups,  and  it  was  significant 
that  the  larger  group  lined  up  on  the  side  nearest 
Kells,  and  the  smaller  back  of  Gulden.  He  had  re 
moved  the  bandage,  and  with  a  raw,  red  blotch 
where  his  right  ear  had  been  shot  away,  he  was 
hideous.  There  was  some  kind  of  power  emanating 

r6o 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

from  him,  but  it  was  not  that  which  was  so  keenly 
vital  and  impelling  in  Kells.  It  was  brute  ferocity, 
dominating  by  sheer  physical  force.  In  any  but  a 
muscular  clash  between  Kells  and  Gulden  the  latter 
must  lose.  The  men  back  of  Gulden  were  a  bearded, 
check-shirted,  heavily  armed  group,  the  worst  of 
that  bad  lot.  All  the  younger,  cleaner-cut  men 
like  Red  Pearce  and  Frenchy  and  Beady  Jones  and 
Williams  and  the  scout  Blicky,  were  on  the  other 
side.  There  were  two  factions  here,  yet  scarcely 
an  antagonism,  except  possibly  in  the  case  of  Kells. 
Joan  felt  that  the  atmosphere  was  supercharged  with 
suspense  and  fatality  and  possibility — and  anything 
might  happen.  To  her  great  joy,  Jim  Cleve  was  not 
present. 

' ' Where  're  Beard  and  Wood?"  queried  Kells. 

"Workin'  over  Beard's  sick  hoss,"  replied  Pearce. 
"They'll  show  up  by  an'  by.  Anythin'  you  say 
goes  with  them,  you  know." 

"Did  you  find  young  Cleve?" 

"No.  He  camps  up  in  the  timber  somewheres. 
Reckon  he'll  be  along,  too." 

Kells  sat  down  at  the  head  of  the  table,  and, 
taking  up  the  little  book,  he  began  to  finger  it  while 
his  pale  eyes  studied  the  men  before  him. 

"We  shuffled  the  deck  pretty  well  over  at  Beard's," 
he  said.  ' '  Now  for  the  deal.  .  .  .  Who  wants  cards  ? 
.  .  .  I've  organized  my  Border  Legion.  I'll  have 
absolute  control,  whether  there  're  ten  men  or  a 
hundred.  Now,  whose  names  go  down  in  my  book  ?" 

Red  Pearce  stepped  up  and  labored  over  the 
writing  of  his  name.  Blicky,  Jones,  Williams,  and 
others  followed  suit.  They  did  not  speak,  but  each 

161 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

shook  hands  with  the  leader.  Evidently  Kells 
exacted  no  oath,  but  accepted  each  man's  free  action 
and  his  word  of  honor.  There  was  that  about  the 
bandit  which  made  such  action  as  binding  as  ties 
of  blood.  He  did  not  want  men  in  his  Legion  who 
had  not  loyalty  to  him.  He  seemed  the  kind  of 
leader  to  whom  men  would  be  true. 

"Kells,  say  them  conditions  over  again,"  re 
quested  one  of  the  men,  less  eager  to  hurry  with  the 
matter. 

At  this  juncture  Joan  was  at  once  thrilled  and 
frightened  to  see  Jim  Cleve  enter  the  cabin.  He 
appeared  whiter  of  face,  almost  ghastly,  and  his 
piercing  eyes  swept  the  room,  from  Kells  to  Gulden, 
from  men  to  men.  Then  he  leaned  against  the  wall, 
indistinct  in  the  shadow.  Kells  gave  no  sign  that 
he  had  noted  the  advent  of  Cleve. 

"I'm  the  leader,"  replied  Kells,  deliberately. 
"I'll  make  the  plans.  I'll  issue  orders.  No  jobs 
without  my  knowledge.  Equal  shares  in  gold — 
man  to  man.  .  .  .  Your  word  to  stand  by  me!" 

A  muttering  of  approval  ran  through  the  listening 
group. 

"Reckon  I'll  join,"  said  the  man  who  had  wished 
the  conditions  repeated.  With  that  he  advanced 
to  the  table  and,  apparently  not  being  able  to  write, 
he  made  his  mark  in  the  book.  Kells  wrote  the 
name  below.  The  other  men  of  this  contingent 
one  by  one  complied  with  Kells 's  requirements. 
This  action  left  Gulden  and  his  group  to  be  dealt 
with. 

"Gulden,  are  you  still  on  the  fence?"  demanded 
Kells,  coolly. 

162 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

The  giant  strode  stolidly  forward  to  the  table. 
As  always  before  to  Joan,  he  seemed  to  be  a  pon 
derous  hulk,  slow,  heavy,  plodding,  with  a  mind  to 
match. 

"Kells,  if  we  can  agree  I'll  join,"  he  said  in  his 
sonorous  voice. 

"You  can  bet  you  won't  join  unless  we  do  agree," 
snapped  Kells.  "But — see  here,  Gulden.  Let's  be 
friendly.  The  border  is  big  enough  for  both  of  us. 
I  want  you.  I  need  you.  Still,  if  we  can't  agree, 
let's  not  split  and  be  enemies.  How  about  it?" 

Another  muttering  among  the  men  attested  to  the 
good  sense  and  good  will  of  Kells 's  suggestion. 

"Tell  me  what  you're  going  to  do — how  you'll 
operate,"  replied  Gulden. 

Kells  had  difficulty  in  restraining  his  impatience 
and  annoyance. 

"What's  that  to  you  or  any  of  you?"  he  queried. 
"You  all  know  I'm  the  man  to  think  of  things. 
That's  been  proved.  First  it  takes  brains.  I'll 
furnish  them.  Then  it  takes  execution.  You  and 
Pearce  and  the  gang  will  furnish  that,  What  more 
do  you  need  to  know?" 

"How  're  you  going  to  operate?"  persisted  Gulden. 

Kells  threw  up  both  hands  as  if  it  was  useless  to 
argue  or  reason  with  this  desperado. 

"All  right,  I'll  tell  you,"  he  replied.  "Listen 

I  can't  say  what  definite  plans  I'll  make  till  Jesse 
Smith  reports,  and  then  when  I  get  on  the  diggings. 
But  here's  a  working  basis.  Now  don't  miss  a  word 
of  this,  Gulden — nor  any  of  you  men.  We'll  pack 
our  outfits  down  to  this  gold  strike.  We'll  build 
cabins  on  the  outskirts  of  the  town,  and  we  won't 

163 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

hang  together.  The  gang  will  be  spread  out.  Most 
of  you  must  make  a  bluff  at  digging  gold.  Be  like 
other  miners.  Get  in  with  cliques  and  clans.  Dig, 
drink,  gamble  like  the  rest  of  them.  Beard  will 
start  a  gambling-place.  Red  Pearce  will  find  some 
other  kind  of  work.  I'll  buy  up  claims — employ 
miners  to  work  them.  I'll  disguise  myself  and  get 
in  with  the  influential  men  and  have  a  voice  in 
matters.  You'll  all  be  scouts.  You'll  come  to  my 
cabin  at  night  to  report.  We'll  not  tackle  any  little 
jobs.  Miners  going  out  with  fifty  or  a  hundred 
pounds  of  gold — the  wagons — the  stage-coach — 
these  we'll  have  timed  to  rights,  and  whoever  I  de 
tail  on  the  job  will  hold  them  up.  You  must  all 
keep  sober,  if  that's  possible.  You  must  all  ab 
solutely  trust  to  my  judgment.  You  must  all  go 
masked  while  on  a  job.  You  must  never  speak  a 
word  that  might  direct  suspicion  to  you.  In  this 
way  we  may  work  all  summer  without  detection. 
The  Border  Legion  will  become  mysterious  and 
famous.  It  will  appear  to  be  a  large  number  of  men, 
operating  all  over.  The  more  secretive  we  are  the 
more  powerful  the  effect  on  the  diggings.  In  gold- 
camps,  when  there's  a  strike,  all  men  are  mad. 
They  suspect  each  other.  They  can't  organize. 
We  shall  have  them  helpless.  .  .  .  And  in  short,  if  it's 
as  rich  a  strike  as  looks  due  here  in  these  hills,  before 
winter  we  can  pack  out  all  the  gold  our  horses  can 
carry." 

Kells  had  begun  under  restraint,  but  the  sound  of 
his  voice,  the  liberation  of  his  great  idea,  roused  him 
to  a  passion.  The  man  radiated  with  passion. 
This,  then,  was  his  dream — the  empire  he  aspired  to. 

164 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

He  had  a  powerful  effect  upon  his  listeners,  except 
Gulden;  and  it  was  evident  to  Joan  that  the  keen 
bandit  was  conscious  of  his  influence.  Gulden,  how 
ever,  showed  nothing  that  he  had  not  already  showed. 
He  was  always  a  strange,  dominating  figure.  He 
contested  the  relations  of  things.  Kells  watched 
him — the  men  watched  him — and  Jim  Cleve's  pierc 
ing  eyes  glittered  in  the  shadow,  fixed  upon  that  mas 
sive  face.  Manifestly  Gulden  meant  to  speak,  but 
in  his  slowness  there  was  no  laboring,  no  pause  from 
emotion.  He  had  an  idea  and  it  moved  like  he 
moved. 

" Dead  men  tell  no  tales!"  The  words  boomed  deep 
from  his  cavernous  chest,  a  mutter  that  was  a  rumble, 
with  something  almost  solemn  in  its  note  and  cer 
tainly  menacing,  breathing  murder.  As  Kells  had 
propounded  his  ideas,  revealing  his  power  to  devise  a 
remarkable  scheme  and  his  passion  for  gold,  so 
Gulden  struck  out  with  the  driving  inhuman  blood- 
lust  that  must  have  been  the  twist,  the  knot,  the 
clot  in  his  brain.  Kells  craved  notoriety  and  gold; 
Gulden  craved  to  kill.  In  the  silence  that  followed 
his  speech  these  wild  border  ruffians  judged  him, 
measured  him,  understood  him,  and  though  some  of 
them  grew  farther  aloof  from  him,  more  of  them 
sensed  the  safety  that  hid  in  his  terrible  implication. 

But  Kells  rose  against  him. 

"Gulden,  you  mean  when  we  steal  gold — to  leave 
only  dead  men  behind?"  he  queried,  with  a  hiss  in 
his  voice. 

The  giant  nodded  grimly. 

"But  only  fools  kill — unless  in  self-defense,"  de 
clared  Kells,  passionately. 

165 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

"We'd  last  longer,"  replied  Gulden,  imperturb- 
ably. 

"No — no.  We'd  never  last  so  long.  Killings 
rouse  a  mining-camp  after  a  while — gold  fever  or  no. 
That  means  a  vigilante  band." 

"We  can  belong  to  the  vigilantes,  just  as  well 
as  to  your  Legion,"  said  Gulden. 

The  effect  of  this  was  to  make  Gulden  appear  less 
of  a  fool  than  Kells  supposed  him.  The  ruffians 
nodded  to  one  another.  They  stirred  restlessly. 
They  were  animated  by  a  strange  and  provocative 
influence.  Even  Red  Pearce  and  the  others  caught 
its  subtlety.  It  was  evil  predominating  in  evil 
hearts.  Blood  and  death  loomed  like  a  shadow  here. 
The  keen  Kells  saw  the  change  working  toward  a 
transformation  and  he  seemed  craftily  fighting  some 
thing  within  him  that  opposed  this  cold  ruthlessness 
of  his  men. 

"Gulden,  suppose  I  don't  see  it  your  way?"  he 
asked. 

"Then  I  won't  join  your  Legion." 

"What  will  you  do?" 

"I'll  take  the  men  who  stand  by  me  and  go  clean 
up  that  gold-camp." 

From  the  fleeting  expression  on  Kells's  face  Joan 
read  that  he  knew  Gulden's  project  would  defeat 
his  own  and  render  both  enterprises  fatal. 

"Gulden,  I  don't  want  to  lose  you,"  he  said. 

"You  won't  lose  me  if  you  see  this  thing  right," 
replied  Gulden.  "You've  got  the  brains  to  direct 
us.  But,  Kells,  you're  losing  your  nerve.  .  .  .  It's 
this  girl  you've  got  here!" 

Gulden  spoke  without  rancor  or  fear  or  feeling 

166 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

of  any  kind.  He  merely  spoke  the  truth.  And  it 
shook  Kells  with  an  almost  ungovernable  fury. 

Joan  saw  the  green  glare  of  his  eyes — his  gray 
working  face — the  flutter  of  his  hand.  She  had  an 
almost  superhuman  insight  into  the  workings  of  his 
mind.  She  knew  that  then  he  was  fighting  whether 
or  not  to  kill  Gulden  on  the  spot.  And  she  recog 
nized  that  this  was  the  time  when  Kells  must  kill 
Gulden  or  from  that  moment  see  a  gradual  diminish 
ing  of  his  power  on  the  border.  But  Kells  did  not 
recognize  that  crucial  height  of  his  career.  His 
struggle  with  his  fury  and  hate  showed  that  the 
thing  uppermost  in  his  mind  was  the  need  of  con 
ciliating  Gulden  and  thus  regaining  a  hold  over  the 
men. 

''Gulden,  suppose  we  waive  the  question  till 
we're  on  the  grounds?"  he  suggested. 

11  Waive  nothing.  It's  one  or  the  other  with  me," 
declared  Gulden. 

"Do  you  want  to  be  leader  of  this  Border  Legion?" 
went  on  Kells,  deliberately. 

"No." 

"Then  what  do  you  want?" 

Gulden  appeared  at  a  loss  for  an  instant  reply. 
"I  want  plenty  to  do,"  he  replied,  presently. 
"I  want  to  be  in  on  everything.  I  want  to  be  free 
to  kill  a  man  when  I  like." 

"When  you  like!"  retorted  Kells,  and  added  a 
curse.  Then  as  if  by  magic  his  dark  face  cleared 
and  there  was  infinite  depth  and  craftiness  in  him. 
His  opposition,  and  that  hint  of  hate  and  loathing 
which  detached  him  from  Gulden,  faded  from  his 
bearing.  "Gulden,  I'll  split  the  difference  between 

167 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

us.     I'll  leave  you  free  to  do  as  you  like.     But  all 
the  others  —  every  man  —  must   take  orders  from 


me." 


Gulden  reached  out  a  huge  hand.  His  instant 
acceptance  evidently  amazed  Kells  and  the  others. 

''Let  her  rip!"  Gulden  exclaimed.  He  shook 
Kells's  hand  and  then  laboriously  wrote  his  name 
in  the  little  book. 

In  that  moment  Gulden  stood  out  alone  in  the 
midst  of  wild  abandoned  men.  What  were  Kells 
and  this  Legion  to  him?  What  was  the  stealing  of 
more  or  less  gold  ? 

"Free  to  do  as  you  like  except  fight  my  men/' 
said  Kells.  "That's  understood." 

"If  they  don't  pick  a  fight  with  me,"  added  the 
giant,  and  he  grinned. 

One  by  one  his  followers  went  through  with  the 
simple  observances  that  Kells's  personality  made  a 
serious  and  binding  compact. 

"Anybody  else?"  called  Kells,  glancing  round. 
The  somberness  was  leaving  his  face. 

"Here's  Jim  Cleve,"  said  Pearce,  pointing  toward 
the  wall. 

"Hello,  youngster!  Come  here.  I'm  wanting 
you  bad,"  said  Kells. 

Cleve  sauntered  out  of  the  shadow,  and  his 
glittering  eyes  were  fixed  on  Gulden.  There  was  an 
instant  of  waiting.  Gulden  looked  at  Cleve.  Then 
Kells  quickly  strode  between  them. 

"Say,  I  forgot  you  fellows  had  trouble,"  he  said. 
He  attended  solely  to  Gulden.  "You  can't  renew 
your  quarrel  now.  Gulden,  we've  all  fought  to 
gether  more  or  less,  and  then  been  good  friends. 

168 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

I  want  Cleve  to  join  us,  but  not  against  your  ill 
will.     How  about  it?" 

"I've  no  ill  will,"  replied  the  giant,  and  the 
strangeness  of  his  remark  lay  in  its  evident  truth. 
"But  I  won't  stand  to  lose  my  other  ear!" 

Then  the  ruffians  guffawed  in  hoarse  mirth. 
Gulden,  however,  did  not  seem  to  see  any  humor  in 
his  remark.  Kells  laughed  with  the  rest.  Even 
Cleve' s  white  face  relaxed  into  a  semblance  of  a 
smile. 

"That's  good.  We're  getting  together,"  declared 
Kells.  Then  he  faced  Cleve,  all  about  him  expres 
sive  of  elation,  of  assurance,  of  power.  "Jim,  will 
you  draw  cards  in  this  deal?" 

"What's  the  deal?"  asked  Cleve. 

Then  in  swift,  eloquent  speech  Kells  launched  the 
idea  of  his  Border  Legion,  its  advantages  to  any 
loose-footed,  young  outcast,  and  he  ended  his  brief 
talk  with  much  the  same  argument  he,  had  given 
Joan.  Back  there  in  her  covert  Joan  listened  and 
watched,  mindful  of  the  great  need  of  controlling  her 
emotions.  The  instant  Jim  Cleve  had  stalked  into 
the  light  she  had  been  seized  by  a  spasm  of  trembling. 

"Kells,  I  don't  care  two  straws  one  way  or  an 
other,"  replied  Cleve. 

The  bandit  appeared  nonplussed.  "You  don't 
care  whether  you  join  my  Legion  or  whether  you 
don't?" 

"Not  a  damn,"  was  the  indifferent  answer. 

"Then  do  me  a  favor,"  went  on  Kells.  "Join  to 
please  me.  We'll  be  good  friends.  You're  in  bad 
out  here  on  the  border.  You  might  as  well  fall  in 
with  us/' 

169 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

"I'd  rather  go  alone." 

"But  you  won't  last." 

"It's  a  lot  I  care." 

The  bandit  studied  the  reckless,  white  face. 
"See  here,  Cleve — haven't  you  got  the  nerve  to  be 
bad — thoroughly  bad?" 

Cleve  gave  a  start  as  if  he  had  been  stung.  Joan 
shut  her  eyes  to  blot  out  what  she  saw  in  his  face. 
Kells  had  used  part  of  the  very  speech  with  which 
she  had  driven  Jim  Cleve  to  his  ruin.  And  those 
words  galvanized  him.  The  fatality  of  all  this! 
Joan  hated  herself.  Those  very  words  of  hers 
would  drive  this  maddened  and  heartbroken  boy 
to  join  Kells's  band.  She  knew  what  to  expect 
from  Jim  even  before  she  opened  her  eyes ;  yet  when 
she  did  open  them  it  was  to  see  him  transformed 
and  blazing. 

Then  Kells  either  gave  way  to  leaping  passion  or 
simulated  it  in  the  interest  of  his  cunning. 

"Cleve,  you're  going  down  for  a  woman?"  he 
queried,  with  that  sharp,  mocking  ring  in  his  voice. 

"If  you  don't  shut  up  you'll  get  there  first,"  re 
plied  Cleve,  menacingly. 

"Bah!  .  .  .  Why  do  you  want  to  throw  a  gun  on 
me?  I'm  your  friend.  You're  sick.  You're  like  a 
poisoned  pup.  I  say  if  you've  got  nerve  you  won't 
quit.  You'll  take  a  run  for  your  money.  You'll 
see  life.  You'll  fight.  You'll  win  some  gold. 
There  are  other  women.  Once  I  thought  I  would 
quit  for  a  woman.  But  I  didn't.  I  never  found  the 
right  one  till  I  had  gone  to  hell — out  here  on  this 
border.  ...  If  you've  got  nerve,  show  me.  Be  a  man 
instead  of  a  crazy  youngster.  Spit  out  the  poison1 

170 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

.  .  .  Tell  it  before  us  all !  ...  Some  girl  drove  you  to 
us?" 

"Yes — a  girl!"  replied  Cleve,  hoarsely,  as  if 
goaded. 

"It's  too  late  to  go  back?" 

"Too  late!" 

' '  There's  nothing  left  but  wild  life  that  makes  you 
forget?" 

"Nothing.  .  .  .  Only  I— can't  forget!"  he  panted. 

Cleve  was  in  a  torture  of  memory,  of  despair,  of 
weakness.  Joan  saw  how  Kells  worked  upon  Jim's 
feelings.  He  was  only  a  hopeless,  passionate  boy 
in  the  hands  of  a  strong,  implacable  man.  He  would 
be  like  wax  to  a  sculptor's  touch.  Jim  would  bend 
to  this  bandit's  will,  and  through  his  very  tenacity 
of  love  and  memory  be  driven  farther  on  the  road 
to  drink,  to  gaming,  and  to  crime. 

Joan  got  to  her  feet,  and  with  all  her  woman's 
soul  uplifting  and  inflaming  her  she  stood  ready  to 
meet  the  moment  that  portended. 

Kells  made  a  gesture  of  savage  violence.  "Show 
your  nerve!  .  .  .  Join  with  me!  ...  You'll  make  a 
name  on  this  border  that  the  West  will  never  forget !" 

That  last  hint  of  desperate  fame  was  the  crafty 
bandit's  best  trump.  And  it  won.  Cleve  swept 
up  a  weak  and  nervous  hand  to  brush  the  hair  from 
his  damp  brow.  The  keenness,  the  fire,  the  aloofness 
had  departed  from  him.  He  looked  shaken  as  if  by 
something  that  had  been  pointed  out  as  his  own 
cowardice. 

' '  Sure,  Kells, ' '  he  said,  recklessly.  ' '  Let  me  in  the 
game.  .  .  And — by  God — I'll — play — the  hand  out!" 
He  reached  for  the  pencil  and  bent  over  the  book. 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

"Wait!  ...  Oh,  wait!"  cried  Joan.  The  passion  of 
that  moment,  the  consciousness  of  its  fateful  portent 
and  her  situation,  as  desperate  as  Cleve's,  gave  her 
voice  a  singularly  high  and  piercingly  sweet  intensity. 
She  glided  from  behind  the  blanket — out  of  the  shad 
ow — into  the  glare  of  the  lanterns — to  face  Kells  and 
Cleve. 

Kells  gave  one  astounded  glance  at  her,  and  then, 
divining  her  purpose,  he  laughed  thrillingly  and 
mockingly,  as  if  the  sight  of  her  was  a  spur,  as  if  her 
courage  was  a  thing  to  admire,  to  permit,  and  to 
regret. 

''Cleve,  my  wife,  Dandy  Dale,"  he  said,  suave  and 
cool.  ' '  Let  her  persuade  you — one  way  or  another !" 

The  presence  of  a  woman,  however  disguised,  fol 
lowing  her  singular  appeal,  transformed  Cleve.  He 
stiffened  erect  and  the  flush  died  out  of  his  face, 
leaving  it  whiter  than  ever,  and  the  eyes  that  had 
grown  dull  quickened  and  began  to  burn.  Joan 
felt  her  cheeks  blanch.  She  all  but  fainted  under 
that  gaze.  But  he  did  not  recognize  her,  though  he 
was  strangely  affected. 

"Wait!"  she  cried  again,  and  she  held  to  that  high 
voice,  so  different  from  her  natural  tone.  ' 'I've  been 
listening.  I've  heard  all  that's  been  said.  Don't 
join  this  Border  Legion.  .  .  .  You're  young — and  still 
honest.  For  God's  sake — don't  go  the  way  of  these 
men !  Kells  will  make  you  a  bandit.  ...  Go  home — 
boy — go  home!" 

"Who  are  you — to  speak  to  me  of  honesty — of 
home?"  Cleve  demanded. 

"I'm  only  a — a  woman.  .  .  .  But  I  can  feel  how 
wrong  you  are.  .  .  .  Go  back  to  that  girl — who — who 

172 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

drove  you  to  the  border.  .  .  .  She  must  repent.  In  a 
day  you'll  be  too  late.  .  ,  .  Oh,  boy,  go  home !  Girls 
never  know  their  minds — their  hearts.  Maybe  your 
girl — loved  you ! .  .  .  Oh,  maybe  her  heart  is  breaking 
now!" 

A  strong,  muscular  ripple  went  over  Cleve,  ending 
in  a  gesture  of  fierce  protest.  Was  it  pain  her  words 
caused,  or  disgust  that  such  as  she  dared  mention 
the  girl  he  had  loved?  Joan  could  not  tell.  She 
only  knew  that  Cleve  was  drawn  by  her  presence, 
fascinated  and  repelled,  subtly  responding  to  the 
spirit  of  her,  doubting  what  he  heard  and  believing 
with  his  eyes. 

"You  beg  me  not  to  become  a  bandit?"  he  asked, 
slowly,  as  if  revolving  a  strange  idea. 

"Oh,  I  implore  you!" 

"Why?" 

"I  told  you.  Because  you're  still  good  at  heart. 
You've  only  been  wild.  .  .  .  Because — " 

"Are  you  the  wife  of  Kells?"  he  flashed  at  her. 

A  reply  seemed  slowly  wrenched  from  Joan's  re 
luctant  lips.  "No!" 

The  denial  left  a  silence  behind  it.  The  truth  that 
all  knew,  when  spoken  by  her  was  a  kind  of  shock. 
The  ruffians  gaped  in  breathless  attention.  Kells 
looked  on  with  a  sardonic  grin,  but  he  had  grown  pale. 
And  upon  the  face  of  Cleve  shone  an  immeasurable 
scorn. 

"Not  his  wife!"  exclaimed  Cleve,  softly. 

His  tone  was  unendurable  to  Joan.  She  began 
to  shrink.  A  flame  curled  within  her.  How  he 
must  hate  any  creature  of  her  sex ! 

"And  you  appeal  to  me!"  he  went  on.     Suddenly 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

a  weariness  came  over  him.  The  complexity  of 
women  was  beyond  him.  Almost  he  turned  his  back 
upon  her.  "I  reckon  such  as  you  can't  keep  me 
from  Kells — or  blood — or  hell!" 

"Then  you're  a  narrow-souled  weakling — born  to 
crime!"  she  burst  out  in  magnificent  wrath.  "For 
however  appearances  are  against  me — I  am  a  good 
woman!" 

That  stunned  him,  just  as  it  drew  Kells  upright, 
white  and  watchful.  Cleve  seemed  long  in  grasping 
its  significance.  His  face  was  half  averted.  Then 
he  turned  slowly,  all  strung,  and  his  hands  clutched 
.quiveringly  at  the  air.  No  man  of  coolness  and 
judgment  would  have  addressed  him  or  moved  a 
step  in  that  strained  moment.  All  expected  some 
such  action  as  had  marked  his  encounter  with  Luce 
and  Gulden. 

Then  Cleve 's  gaze  in  unmistakable  meaning  swept 
over  Joan's  person.  How  could  her  appearance  and 
her  appeal  be  reconciled?  One  was  a  lie!  And  his 
burning  eyes  robbed  Joan  of  spirit. 

"He  forced  me  to — to  wear  these,"  she  faltered. 
"I'm  his  prisoner.  I'm  helpless." 

With  catlike  agility  Cleve  leaped  backward,  so 
that  he  faced  all  the  men,  and  when  his  hands  swept 
to  a  level  they  held  gleaming  guns.  His  utter 
abandon  of  daring  transfixed  these  bandits  in  surprise 
as  much  as  fear.  Kells  appeared  to  take  most  to 
himself  the  menace. 

"I  crawl!"  he  said,  huskily.  "She  speaks  the 
-God's  truth.  .  .  .  But  you  can't  help  matters  by  killing 
me.  Maybe  she'd  be  worse  off." 

He  expected  this  wild  boy  to  break  loose,  yet  his 

174 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

wit  directed  him  to  speak  the  one  thing  calculated 
to  check  Cleve. 

"Oh,  don't  shoot!"  moaned  Joan. 

"You  go  outside,"  ordered  Cleve.  "Get  on  a 
horse  and  lead  another  near  the  door.  ...  Go!  I'll 
take  you  away  from  this." 

Both  temptation  and  terror  assailed  Joan.  Surely 
that  venture  would  mean  only  death  to  Jim  and 
worse  for  her.  She  thrilled  at  the  thought — at  the 
possibility  of  escape — at  the  strange  front  of  this 
erstwhile  nerveless  boy.  But  she  had  not  the 
courage  for  what  seemed  only  desperate  folly. 

"I'll  stay,"  she  whispered.     "You  go!" 

"Hurry,  woman!" 

"No!     No!" 

"Do  you  want  to  stay  with  this  bandit?" 

"Oh,  I  must!" 

"Then  you  love  him?" 

All  the  fire  of  Joan's  heart  flared  up  to  deny  the 
insult  and  all  her  woman's  cunning  fought  to  keep 
back  words  that  inevitably  must  lead  to  revelation. 
She  drooped,  unable  to  hold  up  under  her  shame, 
yet  strong  to  let  him  think  vilely  of  her,  for  his  sake. 
That  way  she  had  a  barest  chance. 

"Get  out  of  my  sight!"  he  ejaculated,  thickly. 
"I'd  have  fought  for  you." 

Again  that  white,  weary  scorn  radiated  from  him. 
Joan  bit  her  tongue  to  keep  from  screaming.  How 
could  she  live  under  this  torment  ?  It  was  she,  Joan 
Randle,  that  had  earned  that  scorn,  whether  he  knew 
her  or  not.  She  shrank  back,  step  by  step,  almost 
dazed,  sick  with  a  terrible  inward  coldness,  blinded  by 
scalding  tears.  She  found  her  door  and  stumbled  in. 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

"Kells,  I'm  what  you.  called  me."  She  heard 
Cleve's  voice,  strangely  far  off.  "There's  no  excuse 
.  .  .  unless  I'm  not  just  right  in  my  head  about 
women.  .  .  .  Overlook  my  break  or  don't — as  you 
like.  But  if  you  want  me  I'm  ready  for  your 
Border  Legion!" 


CHAPTER  XII 

THOSE  bitter  words  of  Cleve's,  as  if  he  mocked 
himself,  were  the  last  Joan  heard,  and  they 
rang  in  her  ears  and  seemed  to  reverberate  through 
her  dazed  mind  like  a  knell  of  doom.  She  lay  there, 
all  blackness  about  her,  weighed  upon  by  an  in 
supportable  burden ;  and  she  prayed  that  day  might 
never  dawn  for  her;  a  nightmare  of  oblivion  ended 
at  last  with  her  eyes  opening  to  the  morning  light. 

She  was  cold  and  stiff.  She  had  lain  uncovered  all 
the  long  hours  of  night.  She  had  not  moved  a 
ringer  since  she  had  fallen  upon  the  bed,  crushed  by 
those  bitter  words  with  which  Cleve  had  consented  to 
join  Kells's  Legion.  Since  then  Joan  felt  that  she 
had  lived  years.  She  could  not  remember  a  single 
thought  she  might  have  had  during  those  black 
hours;  nevertheless,  a  decision  had  been  formed  in 
her  mind,  and  it  was  that  to-day  she  would  reveal 
herself  to  Jim  Cleve  if  it  cost  both  their  lives.  Death 
was  infinitely  better  than  the  suspense  and  fear  and 
agony  she  had  endured;  and  as  for  Jim,  it  would  at 
least  save  him  from  crime. 

Joan  got  up,  a  little  dizzy  and  unsteady  upon  her 
feet.  Her  hands  appeared  clumsy  and  shaky.  All 
the  blood  in  her  seemed  to  surge  from  heart  to  brain 
and  it  hurt  her  to  breathe.  Removing  her  mask,  she 

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THE    BORDER    LEGION 

bathed  her  face  and  combed  her  hair.  At  first  she 
conceived  an  idea  to  go  out  without  her  face  covered, 
but  she  thought  better  of  it.  Cleve's  reckless  de 
fiance  had  communicated  itself  to  her.  She  could 
not  now  be  stopped. 

Kells  was  gay  and  excited  that  morning.  He  paid 
her  compliments.  He  said  they  would  soon  be  out 
of  this  lonely  gulch  and  she  would  see  the  sight  of  her 
life — a  gold  strike.  She  would  see  men  wager  a 
fortune  on  the  turn  of  a  card,  lose,  laugh,  and  go 
back  to  the  digging.  He  said  he  would  take  her  to 
Sacramento  and  'Frisco  and  buy  her  everything  any 
girl  could  desire.  He  was  wild,  voluble,  unreason 
ing — obsessed  by  the  anticipated  fulfilment  of  his 
dream. 

It  was  rather  late  in  the  morning  and  there  were 
a  dozen  or  more  men  in  and  around  the  cabin,  all  as 
excited  as  Kells.  Preparations  were  already  under 
way  for  the  expected  journey  to  the  gold-field. 
Packs  were  being  laid  out,  overhauled,  and  repacked; 
saddles  and  bridles  and  weapons  were  being  worked 
over;  clothes  were  being  awkwardly  mended. 
Horses  were  being  shod,  and  the  job  was  as  hard  and 
disagreeable  for  men  as  for  horses.  Whenever  a 
rider  swung  up  the  slope,  and  one  came  every  now 
and  then,  all  the  robbers  would  leave  off  their  tasks 
and  start  eagerly  for  the  new-comer.  The  name 
Jesse  Smith  was  on  everybody's  lips.  Any  hour  he 
might  be  expected  to  arrive  and  corroborate  Blicky's 
alluring  tale. 

Joan  saw  or  imagined  she  saw  that  the  glances  in 
the  eyes  of  these  men  were  yellow,  like  gold  fire. 

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THE    BORDER    LEGION 

She  had  seen  miners  and  prospectors  whose  eyeg 
shone  with  a  strange  glory  of  light  that  gold  inspired, 
but  never  as  those  of  Kells's  bandit  Legion.  Pres 
ently  Joan  discovered  that,  despite  the  excitement, 
her  effect  upon  them  was  more  marked  than  ever, 
and  by  a  difference  that  she  was  quick  to  feel.  But 
she  could  not  tell  what  this  difference  was — how 
their  attitude  had  changed.  Then  she  set  herself 
the  task  of  being  useful.  First  she  helped  Bate 
Wood.  He  was  roughly  kind.  She  had  not  realized 
that  there  was  sadness  about  her  until  he  whispered : 
"Don't  be  downcast,  miss.  Mebbe  it  '11  come  out 
right  yet!"  That  amazed  Joan.  Then  his  mysteri 
ous  winks  and  glances,  the  sympathy  she  felt  in  him, 
all  attested  to  some  kind  of  a  change.  She  grew 
keen  to  learn,  but  she  did  not  know  how.  She 
felt  the  change  in  all  the  men.  Then  she  went  to 
Pearce  and  with  all  a  woman's  craft  she  exaggerated 
the  silent  sadness  that  had  brought  quick  response 
from  Wood.  Red  Pearce  was  even  quicker.  He 
did  not  seem  to  regard  her  proximity  as  that  of  a 
feminine  thing  which  roused  the  devil  in  him. 
Pearce  could  not  be  other  than  coarse  and  vulgar, 
but  there  was  pity  in  him.  Joan  sensed  pity  and 
some  other  quality  still  beyond  her.  This  lieutenant 
of  the  bandit  Kells  was  just  as  mysterious  as  Wood. 
Joan  mended  a  great  jagged  rent  in  his  buckskin 
shirt.  Pearce  appeared  proud  of  her  work;  he  tried 
to  joke;  he  said  amiable  things.  Then  as  she 
finished  he  glanced  furtively  round;  he  pressed  her 
hand:  "I  had  a  sister  once!"  he  whispered.  And 

then  with  a  dark  and  baleful  hate:   "Kells!  I 

he'll  get  his  over  in  the  gold-camp!" 

179 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

Joan  turned  away  from  Pearce  still  more  amazed. 
Some  strange,  deep  undercurrent  was  working  here. 
There  had  been  unmistakable  hate  for  Kells  in  his 
dark  look  and  a  fierce  implication  in  his  portent  of 
fatality.  What  had  caused  this  sudden  impersonal 
interest  in  her  situation?  What  was  the  meaning 
of  the  subtle  animosity  toward  the  bandit  leader? 
Was  there  no  honor  among  evil  men  banded  together 
for  evil  deeds?  Were  jealousy,  ferocity,  hate,  and 
faithlessness  fostered  by  this  wild  and  evil  border 
life,  ready  at  an  instant's  notice  to  break  out? 
Joan  divined  the  vain  and  futile  and  tragical  nature 
of  Kells's  great  enterprise.  It  could  not  succeed. 
It  might  bring  a  few  days  or  weeks  of  fame,  of  blood 
stained  gold,  of  riotous  gambling,  but  by  its  very 
nature  it  was  doomed.  It  embraced  failure  and 
death. 

Joan  went  from  man  to  man,  keener  now  on  the 
track  of  this  inexplicable  change,  sweetly  and  sadly 
friendly  to  each;  and  it  was  not  till  she  encountered 
the  little  Frenchman  that  the  secret  was  revealed. 
Frenchy  was  of  a  different  race.  Deep  in  the  fiber  of 
his  being  had  been  inculcated  a  sentiment,  a  feeling, 
long  submerged  in  the  darkness  of  a  wicked  life,  and 
now  that  something  came  fleeting  out  of  the  depths — 
and  it  was  respect  for  a  woman.  To  Joan  it  was  a 
flash  of  light.  Yesterday  these  ruffians  had  de 
spised  her;  to-day  they  respected  her.  So  they  had 
believed  what  she  had  so  desperately  flung  at  Jim 
Cleve.  They  believed  her  good,  they  pitied  her, 
they  respected  her,  they  responded  to  her  effort  to 
turn  a  boy  back  from  a  bad  career.  They  were 
bandits,  desperados,  murderers,  lost,  but  each 

1 80 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

remembered  in  her  a  mother  or  a  sister.  What  each 
might  have  felt  or  done  had  he  possessed  her,  as 
Kells  possessed  her,  did  not  alter  the  case  as  it  stood. 
A  strange  inconsistency  of  character  made  them  hate 
Kells  for  what  they  might  not  have  hated  in  them 
selves.  Her  appeal  to  Cleve,  her  outburst  of  truth, 
her  youth  and  misfortune,  had  discovered  to  each  a 
human  quality.  As  in  Kells  something  of  nobility 
still  lingered,  a  ghost  among  his  ruined  ideals,  so  in 
the  others  some  goodness  remained.  Joan  sus 
tained  an  uplifting  divination — no  man  was  utterly 
bad.  Then  came  the  hideous  image  of  the  giant 
Gulden,  the  utter  absence  of  soul  in  him,  and  she 
shuddered.  Then  came  the  thought  of  Jim  Cleve, 
who  had  not  believed  her,  who  had  bitterly  made  the 
fatal  step,  who  might  in  the  strange  reversion  of  his 
character  be  beyond  influence. 

And  it  was  at  the  precise  moment  when  this 
thought  rose  to  counteract  the  hope  revived  by  the 
changed  attitude  of  the  men  that  Joan  looked  out 
to  see  Jim  Cleve  sauntering  up,  careless,  untidy,  a 
cigarette  between  his  lips,  blue  blotches  on  his  white 
face,  upon  him  the  stamp  of  abandonment.  Joan 
suffered  a  contraction  of  heart  that  benumbed  her 
breast.  She  stood  a  moment  battling  with  herself. 
She  was  brave  enough,  desperate  enough,  to  walk 
straight  up  to  Cleve,  remove  her  mask,  and  say,  "I 
am  Joan!"  But  that  must  be  a  last  resource.  She 
had  no  plan,  yet  she  might  force  an  opportunity  to 
see  Cleve  alone. 

A  shout  rose  above  the  hubbub  of  voices.  A  tall 
man  was  pointing  across  the  gulch  where  dust- 
clouds  showed  above  the  willows.  Men  crowded 

181 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

round  him,  all  gazing  in  the  direction  of  his  hand, 
all  talking  at  once. 

"Jesse  Smith's  hoss,  I  swear!"  shouted  the  tall 
man.  '  *  Kells,  come  out  here !" 

Kells  appeared,  dark  and  eager,  at  the  door,  and 
nimbly  he  leaped  to  the  excited  group.  Pearce  and 
Wood  and  others  followed. 

1 '  What's  up  ?"  called  the  bandit.  ' '  Hello !  Who's 
that  riding  bareback?" 

"He's  shore  cuttin'  the  wind,"  said  Wood. 

1 '  Blicky !"  exclaimed  the  tall  man.  ' '  Kells,  there's 
news.  I  seen  Jesse's  hoss." 

Kells  let  out  a  strange,  exultant  cry.  The  excited 
talk  among  the  men  gave  place  to  a  subdued  mur 
mur,  then  subsided.  Blicky  was  running  a  horse  up 
the  road,  hanging  low  over  him,  like  an  Indian.  He 
clattered  to  the  bench,  scattered  the  men  in  all 
directions.  The  fiery  horse  plunged  and  pounded. 
Blicky  was  gray  of  face  and  wild  of  aspect. 

"Jesse's  come!"  he  yelled,  hoarsely,  at  Kells. 
"He  jest  fell  off  his  hoss — all  in!  He  wants  you — 
an'  all  the  gang!  He's  seen  a  million  dollars  in  gold- 
dust!" 

Absolute  silence  ensued  after  that  last  swift  and 
startling  speech.  It  broke  to  a  commingling  of  yells 
and  shouts.  Blicky  wheeled  his  horse  and  Kells 
started  on  a  run.  And  there  was  a  stampede  and 
rush  after  him. 

Joan  grasped  her  opportunity.  She  had  seen  all 
this  excitement,  but  she  had  not  lost  sight  of  Cleve. 
He  got  up  from  a  log  and  started  after  the  others. 
Joan  flew  to  him,  grasped  him,  startled  him  with  the 
suddenness  of  her  onslaught.  But  her  tongue 

182 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

seemed  cloven  to  the  roof  of  her  mouth,  her  lips 
weak  and  mute.  Twice  she  strove  to  speak. 

"Meet  me  —  there!  —  among  the  pines  —  right 
away!"  she  whispered,  with  breathless  earnestness. 
"It's  life — or  death — for  me!" 

As  she  released  his  arm  he  snatched  at  her  mask. 
But  she  eluded  him. 

"Who  are  you?"  he  flashed. 

Kells  and  his  men  were  piling  into  the  willows, 
leaping  the  brook,  hurrying  on.  They  had  no 
thought  but  to  get  to  Jesse  Smith,  to  hear  of  the 
gold  strike.  That  news  to  them  was  as  finding  gold 
in  the  earth  was  to  honest  miners. 

"Come!"  cried  Joan.  She  hurried  away  toward 
the  corner  of  the  cabin,  then  halted  to  see  if  he  was 
following.  He  was,  indeed.  She  ran  round  behind 
the  cabin,  out  on  the  slope,  halting  at  the  first  trees. 
Cleve  came  striding  after  her.  She  ran  on,  beginning 
to  pant  and  stumble.  The  way  he  strode,  the  white 
grimness  of  him,  frightened  her.  What  would  he 
do?  Again  she  went  on,  but  not  running  now. 
There  were  straggling  pines  and  spruces  that  soon 
hid  the  cabins.  Beyond,  a  few  rods,  was  a  dense 
clump  of  pines,  and  she  made  for  that.  As  she 
reached  it  she  turned  fearfully.  Only  Cleve  was  in 
sight.  She  uttered  a  sob  of  mingled  relief,  joy,  and 
thankfulness.  She  and  Cleve  had  not  been  ob 
served.  They  would  be  out  of  sight  in  this  little 
pine  grove.  At  last!  She  could  reveal  herself,  tell 
him  why  she  was  there,  that  she  loved  him,  that  she 
was  as  good  as  ever  she  had  been.  Why  was  she 
shaking  like  a  leaf  in  the  wind?  She  saw  Cleve 
through  a  blur.  He  was  almost  running  now. 

183 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

Involuntarily  she  fled  into  the  grove.  It  was  dark 
and  cool;  it  smelled  sweetly  of  pine;  there  were 
narrow  aisles  and  little  sunlit  glades.  She  hurried 
on  till  a  fallen  tree  blocked  her  passage.  Here  she 
turned — she  would  wait — the  tree  was  good  to  lean 
against.  There  came  Cleve,  a  dark,  stalking  shadow. 
She  did  not  remember  him  like  that.  He  entered 
the  glade. 

"Speak  again!"  he  said,  thickly.  "Either  I'm 
drunk  or  crazy!" 

But  Joan  could  not  speak.  She  held  out  hands 
that  shook — swept  them  to  her  face — tore  at  the 
mask.  Then  with  a  gasp  she  stood  revealed. 

If  she  had  stabbed  him  straight  through  the  heart 
he  could  not  have  been  more  ghastly.  Joan  saw 
him,  in  all  the  terrible  transfiguration  that  came  over 
him,  but  she  had  no  conceptions,  no  thought  of  what 
constituted  that  change.  After  that  check  to  her 
mind  came  a  surge  of  joy. 

"Jim!  .  .  .  Jim!  It's  Joan!"  she  breathed,  with 
lips  almost  mute. 

"Joan!"  he  gasped,  and  the  sound  of  his  voice 
seemed  to  be  the  passing  from  horrible  doubt  to 
certainty. 

Like  a  panther  he  leaped  at  her,  fastened  a  power 
ful  hand  at  the  neck  of  her  blouse,  jerked  her  to  her 
knees,  and  began  to  drag  her.  Joan  fought  his  iron 
grasp.  The  twisting  and  tightening  of  her  blouse 
choked  her  utterance.  He  did  not  look  down  upon 
her,  but  she  could  see  him,  the  rigidity  of  his  body 
set  in  violence,  the  awful  shade  upon  his  face,  the 
upstanding  hair  on  his  head.  He  dragged  her  as  if 
she  had  been  an  empty  sack.  Like  a  beast  he  was 

184 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

seeking  a  dark  place — a  hole  to  hide  her.  She  was 
strangling;  a  distorted  sight  made  objects  dim;  and 
now  she  struggled  instinctively.  Suddenly  the 
clutch  at  her  neck  loosened;  gaspingly  came  the  in 
take  of  air  to  her  lungs;  the  dark-red  veil  left  her 
eyes.  She  was  still  upon  her  knees.  Cleve  stood 
before  her,  like  a  gray-faced  demon,  holding  his  gun 
level,  ready  to  fire. 

"Pray  for  your  soul — and  mine!" 

"Jim!     Oh,  Jim!  .  .  .  Will  you  kill  yourself,  too?" 

"Yes!     But  pray,  girl— quick!" 

"Then  I  pray  to  God — not  for  my  soul — but 
just  for  one  more  moment  of  life  .  .  .  to  tell  you,  Jim!" 

Cleve 's  face  worked  and  the  gun  began  to  waver. 
Her  reply  had  been  a  stroke  of  lightning  into  the 
dark  abyss  of  his  jealous  agony. 

Joan  saw  it,  and  she  raised  her  quivering  face, 
and  she  held  up  her  arms  to  him.  "To  tell — you — • 
Jim!"  she  entreated. 

"What?"  he  rasped  out. 

"That  I'm  innocent — that  I'm  as  good — a  girl — 
as  ever.  .  .  .  Let  me  tell  you.  .  .  .  Oh,  you're  mistaken 
— terribly  mistaken." 

"Now  I  know  I'm  drunk.  .  .  .  You,  Joan  Randle! 
You  in  that  rig !  You  the  companion  of  Jack  Kells ! 
Not  even  his  wife!  The  jest  of  these  foul-mouthed 
bandits!  And  you  say  you're  innocent — good?  .  .  . 
When  you  refused  to  leave  him!" 

"I  was  afraid  to  go — afraid  you'd  be  killed,"  she 
moaned,  beating  her  breast. 

It  must  have  seemed  madness  to  him,  a  mon 
strous  nightmare,  a  delirium  of  drink,  that  Joan. 
Randle  was  there  on  her  knees  in  a  brazen  male 

185 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

attire,  lifting  her  arms  to  him,  beseeching  him,  not 
to  spare  her  life,  but  to  believe  in  her  innocence. 

Joan  burst  into  swift,  broken  utterance:  "Only 
listen!  I  trailed  you  out — twenty  miles  from 
Hoadley.  I  met  Roberts.  He  came  with  me.  He 
lamed  his  horse — we  had  to  camp.  Kells  rode  down 
on  us.  He  had  two  men.  They  camped  there. 
Next  morning  he — killed  Roberts — made  off  with 
me.  ...  Then  he  killed  his  men — just  to  have  me — • 
alone  to  himself.  .  .  .  We  crossed  a  range — camped  in 
a  canon.  There  he  attacked  me — and  I — I  shot 
him!  .  .  .  But  I  couldn't  leave  him — to  die!"  Joan 
hurried  on  with  her  narrative,  gaining  strength  and 
eloquence  as  she  saw  the  weakening  of  Cleve. 
11  First  he  said  I  was  his  wife  to  fool  that  Gulden— 
and  the  others,"  she  went  on.  "He  meant  it  to 
save  me  from  them.  But  they  guessed  or  found 
out.  .  .  .  Kells  forced  me  into  these  bandit  clothes. 
He's  depraved,  somehow.  And  I  had  to  wear  some 
thing.  Kells  hasn't  harmed  me — no  one  has.  I've 
influence  over  him.  He  can't  resist  it.  He's  tried 
to  force  me  to  marry  him.  And  he's  tried  to  give 
up  to  his  evil  intentions.  But  he  can't.  There's 
good  in  him.  I  can  make  him  feel  it.  ...  Oh,  he 
loves  me,  and  I'm  hot  afraid  of  him  any  more.  ...  It 
has  been  a  terrible  time  for  me,  Jim,  but  I'm  still — 
the  same  girl  you  knew — you  used  to — 

Cleve  dropped  the  gun  and  he  waved  his  hand 
before  his  eyes  as  if  to  dispel  a  blindness. 

' '  But  why — why?11  he  asked,  incredulously.  ' '  Why 
did  you  leave  Hoadley?  That's  forbidden.  You 
knew  the  risk." 

Joan  gazed  steadily  up  at  him,  to  see  the  white- 

186 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

ness  slowly  fade  out  of  his  face.  She  had  imagined 
it  would  be  an  overcoming  of  pride  to  betray  her 
love,  but  she  had  been  wrong.  The  moment  was  so 
full,  so  overpowering  that  she  seemed  dumb.  He  had 
ruined  himself  for  her,  and  out  of  that  ruin  had  come 
the  glory  of  her  love.  Perhaps  it  was  all  too  late, 
but  at  least  he  would  know  that  for  love  of  him  she 
had  in  turn  sacrificed  herself. 

"Jim,"  she  whispered,  and  with  the  first  word  of 
that  betrayal  a  thrill,  a  tremble,  a  rush  went  over 
her,  and  all  her  blood  seemed  hot  at  her  neck  and 
face,  "that  night  when  you  kissed  me  I  was  furious. 
But  the  moment  you  had  gone  I  repented.  I  must 
have — cared  for  you  then,  but  I  didn't  know.  .  .  . 
Remorse  seized  me.  And  I  set  out  on  your  trail  to 
save  you  from  yourself.  And  with  the  pain  and 
fear  and  terror  there  was  sometimes — the — the  sweet 
ness  of  your  kisses.  Then  I  knew  I  cared.  .  .  .  And 
with  the  added  days  of  suspense  and  agony — all  that 
told  me  of  your  throwing  your  life  away — there 
came  love.  .  .  .  Such  love  as  otherwise  I'd  never 
have  been  big  enough  for !  I  meant  to  find  you — to 
save  you — to  send  you  home!  ...  I  have  found  you, 
maybe  too  late  to  save  your  life,  but  not  your  soul, 
thank  God!  .  .  .  That's  why  I've  been  strong  enough 
to  hold  back  Kells.  I  love  you,  Jim!  ...  I  love  you! 
I  couldn't  tell  you  enough.  My  heart  is  bursting. 
.  .  .  Say  you  believe  me ! ...  Say  you  know  I'm  good — 
true  to  you — your  Joan !  .  .  .  And  kiss  me — like  you 
did  that  night — when  we  were  such  blind  fools.  A 
boy  and  a  girl  who  didn't  know — and  couldn't  tell! 
— Oh,  the  sadness  of  it !  .  .  .  Kiss  me,  Jim,  before  I — 
drop — at  your  feet !  ...  If  only  you — believe— 
13  187 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

Joan  was  blinded  by  tears  and  whispering  she 
knew  not  what  when  Cleve  broke  from  his  trance 
and  caught  her  to  his  breast.  She  was  fainting — 
hovering  at  the  border  of  unconsciousness  when  his 
violence  held  her  back  from  oblivion.  She  seemed 
wrapped  to  him  and  held  so  tightly  there  was  no 
breath  in  her  body,  no  motion,  no  stir  of  pulse. 
That  vague,  dreamy  moment  passed.  She  heard  his 
husky,  broken  accents — she  felt  the  pound  of  his 
heart  against  her  breast.  And  he  began  to  kiss  her 
as  she  had  begged  him  to.  She  quickened  to  thrill 
ing,  revivifying  life.  And  she  lifted  her  face,  and 
clung  round  his  neck,  and  kissed  him,  blindly, 
sweetly,  passionately,  with  all  her  heart  and  soul  in 
her  lips,  wanting  only  one  thing  in  the  world — to 
give  that  which  she  had  denied  him. 

"Joan!  .  .  .  Joan!  .  .  .  Joan!"  he  murmured  when 
their  lips  parted.  "Am  I  dreaming — drunk — or 
crazy?" 

"Oh,  Jim,  I'm  real — you  have  me  in  your  arms," 
she  whispered.  ' '  Dear  Jim — kiss  me  again — and  say 
you  believe  me." 

"Believe  you?  .  .  .  I'm  out  of  my  mind  with  joy. 
.  .  .  You  loved  me!  You  followed  me!  ...  And — 
that  idea  of  mine — only  an  absurd,  vile  suspicion! 
I  might  have  known — had  I  been  sane!" 

"There.  .  .  .  Oh,  Jim!  .  .  .  Enough  of  madness! 
We've  got  to  plan.  Remember  where  we  are. 
There's  Kells,  and  this  terrible  situation  to  meet!" 

He  stared  at  her,  slowly  realizing,  and  then  it  was 
his  turn  to  shake.  "My  God!  I'd  forgotten.  I'll 
have  to  kill  you  now!" 

A  reaction  set  in.  If  he  had  any  self-control  left 

188 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

he  lost  it,  and  like  a  boy  whose  fling  at  manhood  had 
exhausted  his  courage  he  sank  beside  her  and  buried 
his  face  against  her.  And  he  cried  in  a  low,  tense, 
heartbroken  way.  For  Joan  it  was  terrible  to  hear 
him.  She  held  his  hand  to  her  breast  and  implored 
him  not  to  weaken  now.  But  he  was  stricken  with 
remorse — he  had  run  off  like  a  coward,  he  had 
brought  her  to  this  calamity — and  he  could  not  rise 
under  it.  Joan  realized  that  he  had  long  labored 
under  stress  of  morbid  emotion.  Only  a  supreme 
effort  could  lift  him  out  of  it  to  strong  and  reasoning 
equilibrium,  and  that  must  come  from  her. 

She  pushed  him  away  from  her,  and  held  him  back 
where  he  must  see  her,  and,  white-hot  with  passionate 
purpose,  she  kissed  him.  "Jim  Cleve,  if  you've 
nerve  enough  to  be  bad  you've  nerve  enough  to  save 
the  girl  who  loves  you — who  belongs  to  you!" 

He  raised  his  face  and  it  flashed  from  red  to  white, 
He  caught  the  subtlety  of  her  antithesis.  With  the 
very  two  words  which  had  driven  him  away  under  the 
sting  of  cowardice  she  uplifted  him ;  and  with  all  that 
was  tender  and  faithful  and  passionate  in  her  mean 
ing  of  surrender  she  settled  at  once  and  forever  the 
doubt  of  his  manhood.  He  arose  trembling  in  every 
limb.  Like  a  dog  he  shook  himself.  His  breast 
heaved.  The  shades  of  scorn  and  bitterness  and 
abandon  might  never  have  haunted  his  face.  In  that 
moment  he  had  passed  from  the  reckless  and  wild, 
sick  rage  of  a  weakling  to  the  stern,  realizing  courage 
of  a  man.  His  suffering  on  this  wild  border  had  de 
veloped  a  different  fiber  of  character;  and  at  the 
great  moment,  the  climax,  when  his  moral  force 
hung  balanced  between  elevation  and  destruction, 

189 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

the  woman  had  called  to  him,  and  her  unquenchable 
spirit  passed  into  him. 

1  'There's  only  one  thing — to  get  away,"  he  said. 

"Yes,  but  that's  a  terrible  risk,"  she  replied. 

"We've  a  good  chance  now.  I'll  get  horses.  We 
can  slip  away  while  they're  all  excited." 

"No — no.  I  daren't  risk  so  much.  Kells  would 
find  out  at  once.  He'd  be  like  a  hound  on  our  trail. 
But  that's  not  all.  I've  a  horror  of  Gulden.  I 
can't  explain.  I  feel  it.  He  would  know — he 
would  take  the  trail.  I'd  never  try  to  escape  with 
Gulden  in  camp.  .  .  .  Jim,  do  you  know  what  he's 
done?" 

"He's  a  cannibal.  I  hate  the  sight  of  him.  I 
tried  to  kill  him.  I  wish  I  had  killed  him." 

"I'm  never  safe  while  he's  near." 

"Then  I  will  kill  him." 

"Hush !  you'll  not  be  desperate  unless  you  have  to 
be.  ...  Listen.  I'm  safe  with  Kells  for  the  present. 
And  he's  friendly  to  you.  Let  us  wait.  I'll  keep 
trying  to  influence  him.  I  have  won  the  friendship 
of  some  of  his  men.  We'll  stay  with  him — travel 
with  him.  Surely  we'd  have  a  better  chance  to  es 
cape  after  we  reach  that  gold- camp.  You  must 
play  your  part.  But  do  it  without  drinking  and 
fighting.  I  couldn't  bear  that.  We'll  see  each  other 
somehow.  We'll  plan.  Then  we'll  take  the  first 
sure  chance  to  get  away. ' ' 

"We  might  never  have  a  better  chance  than  we've 
got  right  now,"  he  remonstrated. 

"  It  may  seem  so  to  you.  But  I  know.  I  haven't 
watched  these  ruffians  for  nothing.  I  tell  you  Gul 
den  has  split  with  Kells  because  of  me.  I  don't 

190 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

know  how  I  know.  And  I  think  I'd  die  of  terror  out 
on  the  trail,  with  two  hundred  miles  to  go — and  that 
gorilla  after  me." 

"But,  Joan,  if  we  once  got  away  Gulden  would 
never  take  you  alive,"  said  Jim,  earnestly.  "So 
you  needn't  fear  that." 

"I've  uncanny  horror  of  him.  It's  as  if  he  were  a 
gorilla — and  would  take  me  off  even  if  I  were  dead! 
.  .  .  No,  Jim,  let  us  wait.  Let  me  select  the  time. 
I  can  do  it.  Trust  me.  Oh,  Jim,  now  that  I've 
saved  you  from  being  a  bandit,  I  can  do  anything.  I 
can  fool  Kells  or  Pearce  or  Wood — any  of  them, 
except  Gulden." 

"If  Kells  had  to  choose  now  between  trailing 
you  and  rushing  for  the  gold-camp,  which  would 
he  do?" 

"He'd  trail  me,"  she  said. 

"But  Kells  is  crazy  over  gold.  He  has  two  pas 
sions.  To  steal  gold,  and  to  gamble  with  it." 

"That  may  be.  But  he'd  go  after  me  first.  So 
would  Gulden.  We  can't  ride  these  hills  as  they  do. 
We  don't  know  the  trails — the  water.  We'd  get 
lost.  We'd  be  caught.  And  somehow  I  know  that 
Gulden  and  his  gang  would  find  us  first." 

"You're  probably  right,  Joan,"  replied  Cleve. 
"But  you  condemn  me  to  a  living  death.  ...  To 
let  you  out  of  my  sight  with  Kells  or  any  of 
them!  It  '11  be  worse  almost  than  my  life  was 
before." 

"But,  Jim,  I'll  be  safe,"  she  entreated.  "It's  the 
better  choice  of  two  evils.  Our  lives  depend  on 
reason,  waiting,  planning.  And,  Jim,  I  want  to  live 
for  you." 

191 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

"My  brave  darling,  to  hear  you  say  that!"  he 
exclaimed,  with  deep  emotion.  "When  I  never  ex 
pected  to  see  you  again!  .  .  .  But  the  past  is  past. 
I  begin  over  from  this  hour.  Ill  be  what  you  want — 
do  what  you  want." 

Joan  seemed  irresistibly  drawn  to  him  again,  and 
the  supplication,  as  she  lifted  her  blushing  face,  and 
the  yielding,  were  perilously  sweet. 

"Jim,  kiss  me  and  hold  me — the  way — you  did 
that  night!" 

And  it  was  not  Joan  who  first  broke  that  embrace. 

"Find  my  mask,"  she  said. 

Cleve  picked  up  his  gun  and  presently  the  piece 
of  black  felt.  He  held  it  as  if  it  were  a  deadly  thing. 

•"Put  it  on  me." 

He  slipped  the  cord  over  her  head  and  adjusted 
the  mask  so  the  holes  came  right  for  her  eyes. 

"Joan,  it  hides  the — the  goodness  of  you,"  he  cried. 
"No  one  can  see  your  eyes  now.  No  one  will  look 
at  your  face.  That  rig  shows  your — shows  you  off 
so!  It's  not  decent.  .  .  .  But,  O  Lord!  I'm  bound  to 
confess  how  pretty,  how  devilish,  how  seductive  you 
are!  And  I  hate  it." 

"Jim,  I  hate  it,  too.  But  we  must  stand  it. 
Try  not  to  shame  me  any  more.  .  .  .  And  now  good- 
by.  Keep  watch  for  me — as  I  will  for  you — all  the 
time." 

Joan  broke  from  him  and  glided  out  of  the  grove, 
away  under  the  straggling  pines,  along  the  slope. 
She  came  upon  her  horse  and  she  led  him  back  to  the 
corral.  Many  of  the  horses  had  strayed.  There 
was  no  one  at  the  cabin,  but  she  saw  men  striding  up 
the  slope,  Kells  in  the  lead.  She  had  been  fortunate. 

192 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

Her  absence  could  hardly  have  been  noted.  She 
had  just  strength  left  to  get  to  her  room,  where  she 
fell  upon  the  bed,  weak  and  trembling  and  dizzy 
and  unutterably  grateful  at  her  deliverance  from  the 
hateful,  unbearable  falsity  of  her  situation. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

IT  was  afternoon  before  Joan  could  trust  herself 
•*•  sufficiently  to  go  out  again,  and  when  she  did  go 
she  saw  that  she  attracted  very  little  attention  from 
the  bandits. 

Kells  had  a  springy  step,  a  bright  eye,  a  lifted 
head,  and  he  seemed  to  be  listening.  Perhaps  he 
was — to  the  music  of  his  sordid  dreams.  Joan 
watched  him  sometimes  with  wonder.  Even  a 
bandit — plotting  gold  robberies,  with  violence  and 
blood  merely  means  to  an  end — built  castles  in  the 
air  and  lived  with  joy ! 

All  that  afternoon  the  bandits  left  camp  in  twos 
and  threes,  each  party  with  pack  burros  and  horses, 
packed  as  Joan  had  not  seen  them  before  on  the 
border.  Shovels  and  picks  and  old  sieves  and  pans, 
these  swinging  or  tied  in  prominent  places,  were 
evidence  that  the  bandits  meant  to  assume  the 
characters  of  miners  and  prospectors.  They  whis 
tled  and  sang.  It  was  a  lark.  The  excitement  had 
subsided  and  the  action  begun.  Only  in  Kells, 
under  his  radiance,  could  be  felt  the  dark  and 
sinister  plot.  He  was  the  heart  of  the  machine. 

By  sundown  Kells,  Pearce,  Wood,  Jim  Cleve,  and 
a  robust,  grizzled  bandit,  Jesse  Smith,  were  left  in 
camp.  Smith  was  lame  from  his  ride,  and  Joan 

194 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

gathered  that  Kells  would  have  left  camp  but  for  the 
fact  that  Smith  needed  rest.  He  and  Kells  were  to 
gether  all  the  time,  talking  endlessly.  Joan  heard 
them  argue  a  disputed  point — would  the  men  abide 
by  Kells's  plan  and  go  by  twos  and  threes  into  the 
gold-camp,  and  hide  their  relations  as  a  larger  band? 
Kells  contended  they  would  and  Smith  had  his 
doubts. 

"Jack,  wait  till  you  see  Alder  Creek!"  ejaculated 
Smith,  wagging  his  grizzled  head.  "Three  thousand 
men,  old  an'  young,  of  all  kinds — gone  gold-crazy! 
Alder  Creek  has  got  California's  '49  an'  '51  cinched 
to  the  last  hole!"  And  the  bandit  leader  rubbed  his 
palms  in  great  glee. 

That  evening  they  all  had  supper  together  in 
Kells's  cabin.  Bate  Wood  grumbled  because  he  had 
packed  most  of  his  outfit.  It  so  chanced  that  Joan 
sat  directly  opposite  Jim  Cleve,  and  while  he  ate  he 
pressed  her  foot  with  his  under  the  table.  The 
touch  thrilled  Joan.  Jim  did  not  glance  at  her, 
but  there  was  such  a  change  in  him  that  she  feared 
it  might  rouse  Kells's  curiosity.  This  night,  how 
ever,  the  bandit  could  not  have  seen  anything 
except  a  gleam  of  yellow.  He  talked,  he  sat  at  table, 
but  he  did  not  eat.  After  supper  he  sent  Joan  to  her 
cabin,  saying  they  would  be  on  the  trail  at  daylight. 
Joan  watched  them  awhile  from  her  covert.  They 
had  evidently  talked  themselves  out,  and  Kells 
grew  thoughtful.  Smith  and  Pearce  went  outside, 
apparently  to  roll  their  beds  on  the  ground  under  the 
porch  roof.  Wood,  who  said  he  was  never  a  good 
sleeper,  smoked  his  pipe.  And  Jim  Cleve  spread 
blankets  along  the  wall  in  the  shadow  and  lay  down. 


THE    BORDER   LEGION 

Joan  could  just  see  his  eyes  shining  toward  her  door. 
Of  course  he  was  thinking  of  her.  But  could  he  see 
her  eyes  ?  Watching  her  chance,  she  slipped  a  hand 
from  behind  the  curtain,  and  she  knew  Cleve  saw  it. 
What  a  comfort  that  was!  Joan's  heart  swelled. 
All  might  yet  be  well.  Jim  Cleve  would  be  near  her 
while  she  slept.  She  could  sleep  now  without  those 
dark  dreams — without  dreading  to  awaken  to  the 
light.  Again  she  saw  Kells  pacing  the  room,  silent, 
bent,  absorbed,  hands  behind  his  back,  weighted 
with  his  burden.  It  was  impossible  not  to  feel  sorry 
for  him.  With  all  his  intelligence  and  cunning  and 
power,  his  cause  was  hopeless.  Joan  knew  that  as 
she  knew  so  many  other  things  without  understand 
ing  why.  She  had  not  yet  sounded  Jesse  Smith, 
but  not  a  man  of  all  the  others  was  true  to  Kells. 
They  would  be  of  his  Border  Legion,  do  his  bidding, 
revel  in  their  ill-gotten  gains,  and  then,  when  he 
needed  them  most,  be  false  to  him. 

When  Joan  was  awakened  her  room  was  shrouded 
in  gray  gloom.  A  bustle  sounded  from  the  big 
cabin,  and  outside  horses  stamped  and  men  talked. 

She  sat  alone  at  breakfast  and  ate  by  lantern- 
light.  It  was  necessary  to  take  a  lantern  back  to  her 
cabin,  and  she  was  so  long  in  her  preparations  there 
that  Kells  called  again.  Somehow  she  did  not  want 
to  leave  this  cabin.  It  seemed  protective  and 
private,  and  she  feared  she  might  not  find  such' 
quarters  again.  Besides,  upon  the  moment  of  leav 
ing  she  discovered  that  she  had  grown  attached  to 
the  place  where  she  had  suffered  and  thoug--  t  and 
grown  so  much. 

196 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

Kells  had  put  out  the  lights.  Joan  hurried 
through  the  cabin  and  outside.  The  gray  obscurity 
had  given  way  to  dawn.  The  air  was  cold,  sweet, 
bracing  with  the  touch  of  mountain  purity  in  it. 
The  men,  except  Kells,  were  all  mounted,  and  the 
pack-train  was  in  motion.  Kells  dragged  the  rude 
door  into  position,  and  then,  mounting,  he  called  to 
Joan  to  follow.  She  trotted  her  horse  after  him, 
down  the  slope,  across  the  brook  and  through  the  wet 
willows,  and  out  upon  the  wide  trail.  She  glanced 
ahead,  discerning  that  the  third  man  from  her  was 
Jim  Cleve;  and  that  fact,  in  the  start  for  Alder 
Creek,  made  all  the  difference  in  the  world. 

When  they  rode  out  of  the  narrow  defile  into  the 
valley  the  sun  was  rising  red  and  bright  in  a  notch 
of  the  mountains.  Clouds  hung  over  distant  peaks, 
and  the  patches  of  snow  in  the  high  canons  shone 
blue  and  pink.  Smith  in  the  lead  turned  westward 
up  the  valley.  Horses  trooped  after  the  cavalcade 
and  had  to  be  driven  back.  There  were  also  cattle 
in  the  valley,  and  all  these  Kells  left  behind  like  an 
honest  rancher  who  had  no  fear  for  his  stock.  Deer 
stood  off  with  long  ears  pointed  forward,  watching 
the  horses  go  by.  There  were  flocks  of  quail,  and 
whirring  grouse,  and  bounding  jack-rabbits,  and 
occasionally  a  brace  of  sneaking  coyotes.  These 
and  the  wild  flowers,  and  the  waving  meadow- 
grass,  the  yellow-stemmed  willows,  and  the  patches 
of  alder,  all  were  pleasurable  to  Joan's  eyes  and  rest 
ful  to  her  mind. 

Smith  soon  led  away  from  this  valley  up  out  of 
the  ht.  id  of  a  ravine,  across  a  rough  rock-strewn 
ridge,  o\\n  again  into  a  hollow  that  grew  to  be  a 

197 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

canon.  The  trail  was  bad.  Part  of  the  time  it  was 
the  bottom  of  a  boulder-strewn  brook  where  the 
horses  slipped  on  the  wet,  round  stones.  Progress 
was  slow  and  time  passed.  For  Joan,  however,  it 
was  a  relief;  and  the  slower  they  might  travel  the 
better  she  would  like  it.  At  the  end  of  that  journey 
there  were  Gulden  and  the  others,  and  the  gold-camp 
with  its  illimitable  possibilities  for  such  men. 

At  noon  the  party  halted  for  a  rest.  The  camp 
site  was  pleasant  and  the  men  all  agreeable.  During 
the  meal  Kells  found  occasion  to  remark  to  Cleve: 

"Say,  youngster,  you've  brightened  up.  Must  be 
because  of  our  prospects  over  here?" 

"Not  that  so  much,"  replied  Cleve.  "I  quit  the 
whisky.  To  be  honest,  Kells,  I  was  almost  seeing 
snakes." 

"I'm  glad  you  quit.  When  you're  drinking  you're 
wild.  I  never  yet  saw  the  man  who  could  drink  hard 
and  keep  his  head.  I  can't.  But  I  don't  drink 
much." 

His  last  remark  brought  a  response  in  laughter. 
Evidently  his  companions  thought  he  was  joking. 
He  laughed  himself  and  actually  winked  at  Joan. 

It  happened  to  be  Cleve  whom  Kells  told  to  sad 
dle  Joan's  horse,  and  as  Joan  tried  the  cinches,  to  see 
if  they  were  too  tight  to  suit  her,  Jim's  hand  came 
in  contact  with  hers.  That  touch  was  like  a  mes 
sage.  Joan  was  thrilling  all  over  as  she  looked  at 
Jim,  but  he  kept  his  face  averted.  Perhaps  he  did 
not  trust  his  eyes. 

Travel  was  resumed  up  the  canon  and  continued 
steadily,  though  leisurely.  But  the  trail  was  so 
rough,  and  so  winding,  that  Joan  believed  the 

198 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

progress  did  not  exceed  three  miles  an  hour.  It  was 
the  kind  of  travel  in  which  a  horse  could  be  helped 
and  that  entailed  attention  to  the  lay  of  the  ground. 
Before  Joan  realized  the  hours  were  flying,  the  after 
noon  had  waned.  Smith  kept  on,  however,  until 
nearly  dark  before  halting  for  camp. 

The  evening  camp  was  a  scene  of  activity,  and  all 
except  Joan  had  work  to  do.  She  tried  to  lend  a 
hand,  but  Wood  told  her  to  rest.  This  she  was  glad 
to  do.  When  called  to  supper  she  had  almost  fallen 
asleep.  After  a  long  day's  ride  the  business  of  eat 
ing  precluded  conversation.  Later,  however,  the 
men  began  to  talk  between  puffs  on  their  pipes,  and 
from  the  talk  no  one  could  have  guessed  that  here 
was  a  band  of  robbers  on  their  way  to  a  gold-camp. 
Jesse  Smith  had  a  sore  foot  and  he  was  compared  to 
a  tenderfoot  on  his  first  ride.  Smith  retaliated  in 
kind.  Every  consideration  was  shown  Joan,  and 
Wood  particularly  appeared  assiduous  in  his  desire 
for  her  comfort.  All  the  men  except  Cleve  paid 
her  some  kind  attention ;  and  he,  of  course,  neglected 
her  because  he  was  afraid  to  go  near  her.  Again  she 
felt  in  Red  Pearce  a  condemnation  of  the  bandit 
leader  who  was  dragging  a  girl  over  hard  trails, 
making  her  sleep  in  the  open,  exposing  her  to  danger 
and  to  men  like  himself  and  Gulden.  In  his  own 
estimate  Pearce,  like  every  one  of  his  kind,  was  not 
so  low  as  the  others. 

Joan  watched  and  listened  from  her  blankets, 
under  a  leafy  tree,  some  few  yards  from  the  camp- 
fire.  Once  Kells  turned  to  see  how  far  distant  she 
was,  and  then,  lowering  his  voice,  he  told  a  story. 
The  others  laughed.  Pearce  followed  with  another, 

199 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

and  he,  too,  took  care  that  Joan  could  not  hear. 
They  grew  closer  for  the  mirth,  and  Smith,  who 
evidently  was  a  jolly  fellow,  set  them  to  roaring. 
Jim  Cleve  laughed  with  them. 

"Say,  Jim,  you're  getting  over  it,"  remarked 
Kells. 

"Over  what?" 

Kells  paused,  rather  embarrassed  for  a  reply,  as 
evidently  in  the  humor  of  the  hour  he  had  spoken  a 
thought  better  left  unsaid.  But  there  was  no  more 
forbidding  atmosphere  about  Cleve.  He  appeared 
to  have  rounded  to  good-fellowship  after  a  moody 
and  quarrelsome  drinking  spell. 

"Why,  over  what  drove  you  out  here — and  gave 
me  a  lucky  chance  at  you,"  replied  Kells,  with  a 
constrained  laugh. 

"Oh,  you  mean  the  girl? .  .  .  Sure,  I'm  getting  over 
that,  except  when  I  drink." 

"Tell  us,  Jim,"  said  Kells,  curiously. 

"Aw,  you'll  give  me  the  laugh!"  retorted  Cleve. 

"No,  we  won't  unless  your  story's  funny." 

"You  can  gamble  it  wasn't  funny,"  put  in  Red 
Pearce. 

They  all  coaxed  him,  yet  none  of  them,  except 
Kells,  was  particularly  curious;  it  was  just  that  hour 
when  men  of  their  ilk  were  lazy  and  comfortable  and 
full  fed  and  good-humored  round  the  warm,  blazing 
camp-fire. 

"All  right,"  replied  Cleve,  and  apparently,  for  all 
his  complaisance,  a  call  upon  memory  had  its  pain. 
"I'm  from  Montana.  Range-rider  in  winter  and  in 
summer  I  prospected.  Saved  quite  a  little  money, 
in  spite  of  a  fling  now  and  then  at  faro  and  whisky. 

200 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

.  .  .  Yes,  there  was  a  girl,  I  guess  yes.  She  was 
pretty.  I  had  a  bad  case  over  her.  Not  long  ago 
I  left  all  I  had — money  and  gold  and  things — in  her 
keeping,  and  I  went  prospecting  again.  We  were  to 
get  married  on  my  return.  I  stayed  out  six  months, 
did  well,  and  got  robbed  of  all  my  dust." 

Cleve  was  telling  this  fabrication  in  a  matter-of- 
fact  way,  growing  a  little  less  frank  as  he  proceeded, 
and  he  paused  while  he  lifted  sand  and  let  it  drift 
through  his  fingers,  watching  it  curiously.  All  the 
men  were  interested  and  Kells  hung  on  every  word. 

"When  I  got  back,"  went  on  Cleve,  "my  girl  had 
married  another  fellow.  She'd  given  him  all  I  left 
with  her.  Then  I  got  drunk.  While  I  was  drunk 
they  put  up  a  job  on  me.  It  was  her  word  that  dis 
graced  me  and  run  me  out  of  town.  ...  So  I  struck 
west  and  drifted  to  the  border." 

"That's  not  all,"  said  Kells,  bluntly. 

"Jim,  I  reckon  you  ain't  tellin'  what  you  did  to 
thet  lyin'  girl  an'  the  feller.  How'd  you  leave 
them?"  added  Pearce. 

But  Cleve  appeared  to  become  gloomy  and 
reticent. 

"Wimmen  can  hand  the  double-cross  to  a  man, 
hey,  Kells?"  queried  Smith,  with  a  broad  grin. 

"By  gosh!  I  thought  you'd  been  treated  power 
ful  mean!"  exclaimed  Bate  Wood,  and  he  was  full  of 
wrath. 

"A  treacherous  woman!"  exclaimed  Kells,  passion 
ately.  He  had  taken  Cleve' s  story  hard.  The  man 
must  have  been  betrayed  by  women,  and  Cleve's 
,story  had  irritated  old  wounds. 

Directly  Kells  left  the  fire  and  repaired  to  his 

201 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

blankets,  near  where  Joan  lay.  Probably  he  be 
lieved  her  asleep,  for  he  neither  looked  nor  spoke. 
Cleve  sought  his  bed,  and  likewise  Wood  and  Smith. 
Pearce  was  the  last  to  leave,  and  as  he  stood  up  the 
light  fell  upon  his  red  face,  lean  and  bold  like  an 
Indian's.  Then  he  passed  Joan,  looking  down  upon 
her  and  then  upon  the  recumbent  figure  of  Kells; 
and  if  his  glance  was  not  baleful  and  malignant,  as 
it  swept  over  the  bandit,  Joan  believed  her  imagina 
tion  must  be  vividly  weird,  and  running  away  with 
her  judgment. 

The  next  morning  began  a  day  of  toil.  They  had 
to  climb  over  the  mountain  divide,  a  long,  flat- 
topped  range  of  broken  rocks.  Joan  spared  her 
horse  to  the  limit  of  her  own  endurance.  If  there 
were  a  trail  Smith  alone  knew  it,  for  none  was  in 
evidence  to  the  others.  They  climbed  out  of  the 
notched  head  of  the  cafion,  and  up  a  long  slope  of 
weathered  shale  that  let  the  horses  slide  back  a  foot 
for  every  yard  gained,  and  through  a  labyrinth  of 
broken  cliffs,  and  over  bench  and  ridge  to  the 
height  of  the  divide.  From  there  Joan  had  a 
magnificent  view.  Foot-hills  rolled  round  heads 
below,  and  miles  away,  in  a  curve  of  the  range, 
glistened  Bear  Lake.  The  rest  here  at  this1  height 
was  counteracted  by  the  fact  that  the  altitude  af 
fected  Joan.  She  was  glad  to  be  on  the  move  again, 
and  now  the  travel  was  down-hill,  so  that  she  could 
ride.  Still  it  was  difficult,  for  horses  were  more 
easily  lamed  in  a  descent.  It  took  two  hours  to 
descend  the  distance  that  had  consumed  all  the 
morning  to  ascend.  Smith  led  through  valley  after 

202 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

valley  between  foot-hills,  and  late  in  the  afternoon 
halted  by  a  spring  in  a  timbered  spot. 

Joan  ached  in  every  muscle  and  she  was  too  tired 
to  care  what  happened  round  the  camp-fire.  Jim 
had  been  close  to  her  all  day  and  that  had  kept  up 
her  spirit.  It  was  not  yet  dark  when  she  lay  down 
for  the  night. 

"Sleep  well,  Dandy  Dale,"  said  Kells,  cheerfully, 
yet  not  without  pathos.  "Alder  Creek  to-morrow! 
.  .  .  Then  you'll  never  sleep  again!" 

At  times  she  seemed  to  feel  that  he  regretted  her 
presence,  and  always  this  fancy  came  to  her  with 
mocking  or  bantering  suggestion  that  the  costume 
and  mask  she  wore  made  her  a  bandit's  consort,  and 
she  could  not  escape  the  wildness  of  this  gold- 
seeking  life.  The  truth  was  that  Kells  saw  the 
insuperable  barrier  between  them,  and  in  the  bitter 
ness  of  his  love  he  lied  to  himself,  and  hated  himself 
for  the  lie. 

About  the  middle  of  the  afternoon  of  the  next 
day  the  tired  cavalcade  rode  down  out  of  the  brush 
and  rock  into  a  new,  broad,  dusty  road.  It  was  so 
new  that  the  stems  of  the  cut  brush  along  the  borders 
were  still  white.  But  that  road  had  been  traveled 
by  a  multitude. 

Out  across  the  valley  in  the  rear  Joan  saw  a 
canvas-topped  wagon,  and  she  had  not  ridden  far 
on  the  road  when  she  saw  bobbing  pack-burros 
to  the  fore.  Kells  had  called  Wood  and  Smith 
and  Pearce  and  Cleve  together,  and  now  they 
went  on  in  a  bunch,  all  driving  the  pack-train. 
Excitement  again  claimed  Kells;  Pearce  was  alert 
14  203 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

and  hawk-eyed;  Smith  looked  like  a  hound  on  a 
scent;  Cleve  showed  genuine  feeling.  Only  Bate 
Wood  remained  proof  to  the  meaning  of  that  broad 
road. 

All  along,  on  either  side,  Joan  saw  wrecks  of 
wagons,  wheels,  harness,  boxes,  old  rags  of  tents 
blown  into  the  brush,  dead  mules  and  burros.  It 
seemed  almost  as  if  an  army  had  passed  that  way. 
Presently  the  road  crossed  a  wide,  shallow  brook  of 
water,  half  clear  and  half  muddy;  and  on  the  other 
side  the  road  followed  the  course  of  the  brook. 
Joan  heard  Smith  call  the  stream  Alder  Creek,  and 
he  asked  Kells  if  he  knew  what  muddied  water 
meant.  The  bandit's  eyes  flashed  fire.  Joan  thrilled, 
for  she,  too,  knew  that  up-stream  there  were  miners 
washing  earth  for  gold. 

A  couple  of  miles  farther  on  creek  and  road  en 
tered  the  mouth  of  a  wide  spruce-timbered  gulch. 
These  trees  hid  any  view  of  the  slopes  or  floor  of  the 
gulch,  and  it  was  not  till  several  more  miles  had 
been  passed  that  the  bandit  rode  out  into  what  Joan 
first  thought  was  a  hideous  slash  in  the  forest 
made  by  fire.  But  it  was  only  the  devastation 
wrought  by  men.  As  far  as  she  could  see  the  timber 
was  down,  and  everywhere  began  to  be  manifested 
signs  that  led  her  to  expect  habitations.  No  cabins 
showed,  however,  in  the  next  mile.  They  passed 
out  of  the  timbered  part  of  the  gulch  into  one  of 
rugged,  bare,  and  stony  slopes,  with  bunches  of 
sparse  alder  here  and  there.  The  gulch  turned  at 
right  angles  and  a  great  gray  slope  shut  out  sight  of 
what  lay  beyond.  But,  once  round  that  obstruction, 
Kells  halted  his  men  with  short,  tense  exclamation. 

20A 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

Joan  saw  that  she  stood  high  up  on  the  slope, 
looking  down  upon  the  gold-camp.  It  was  an  in 
teresting  scene,  but  not  beautiful.  To  Kells  it  must 
have  been  so,  but  to  Joan  it  was  even  more  hideous 
than  the  slash  in  the  forest.  Here  and  there,  every 
where,  were  rude  dugouts,  little  huts  of  brush,  an 
occasional  tent,  and  an  occasional  log  cabin ;  and  as 
she  looked  farther  and  farther  these  crude  habita 
tions  of  miners  magnified  in  number  and  in  dimen 
sions  till  the  white  and  black,  broken  mass  of  the 
town  choked  the  narrow  gulch. 

''Wai,  boss,  what  do  you  say  to  thet  diggin's?" 
demanded  Jesse  Smith. 

Kells  drew  a  deep  breath.  * '  Old  forty-niner,  this 
beats  all  I  ever  saw!" 

"Shore  I've  seen  Sacramento  look  like  thet!" 
added  Bate  Wood. 

Pearce  and  Cleve  gazed  with  fixed  eyes,  and, 
however  different  their  emotions,  they  rivaled  each 
other  in  attention. 

"Jesse,  what's  the  word?"  queried  Kells,  with  a 
sharp  return  to  the  business  of  the  matter. 

"I've  picked  a  site  on  the  other  side  of  camp. 
Best  fer  us,"  he  replied. 

"Shall  we  keep  to  the  road?" 

"Certain-lee,"  he  returned,  with  his  grin. 

Kells  hesitated,  and  felt  of  his  beard,  probably 
conjecturing  the  possibilities  of  recognition. 

"Whiskers  make  another  man  of  you.  Reckon 
you  needn't  expect  to  be  known  over  here." 

That  decided  Kells.  He  pulled  his  sombrero  well 
down,  shadowing  his  face.  Then  he  remembered  Joan, 
and  made  a  slight  significant  gesture  at  her  mask. 

205 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

"Kells,  the  people  in  this  here  camp  wouldn't 
look  at  an  army  ridin'  through,"  responded  Smith. 
"It's  every  man  fer  hisself.  An'  wimmen,  say! 
there's  all  kinds.  I  seen  a  dozen  with  veils,  an' 
them's  the  same  as  masks." 

Nevertheless,  Kells  had  Joan  remove  the  mask 
and  pull  her  sombrero  down,  and  instructed  her  to 
ride  in  the  midst  of  the  group.  Then  they  trotted 
on,  soon  catching  up  with  the  jogging  pack-train. 

What  a  strange  ride  that  was  for  Joan !  The 
slope  resembled  a  magnified  ant-hill  with  a  horde  of 
frantic  ants  in  action.  As  she  drew  closer  she  saw 
these  ants  were  men,  digging  for  gold.  Those  near 
at  hand  could  be  plainly  seen — rough,  ragged, 
bearded  men  and  smooth-faced  boys.  Farther  on 
and  up  the  slope,  along  the  waterways  and  ravines, 
were  miners  so  close  they  seemed  almost  to  inter 
fere  with  one  another.  The  creek  bottom  was  alive 
with  busy,  silent,  violent  men,  bending  over  the 
water,  washing  and  shaking  and  paddling,  all 
desperately  intent  upon  something.  They  had  no 
time  to  look  up.  They  were  ragged,  unkempt,  bare- 
armed  and  bare-legged,  every  last  one  of  them  with 
back  bent.  For  a  mile  or  more  Kells's  party  trotted 
through  this  part  of  the  diggings,  and  everywhere, 
on  rocky  bench  and  gravel  bar  and  gray  slope,  were 
holes  with  men  picking  and  shoveling  in  them. 
Some  were  deep  and  some  were  shallow;  some  long 
trenches  and  others  mere  pits.  If  all  of  these 
prospectors  were  finding  gold,  then  gold  was  every 
where.  And  presently  Joan  did  not  need  to  have 
Kells  tell  her  that  all  of  these  diggers  were  finding 
dust.  How  silent  they  were — how  tense!  They 

206 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

were  not  mechanical.  It  was  a  soul  that  drove  them. 
Joan  had  seen  many  men  dig  for  gold,  and  find  a 
little  now  and  then,  but  she  had  never  seen  men 
dig  when  they  knew  they  were  going  to  strike  gold. 
That  made  the  strange  difference. 

Joan  calculated  she  must  have  seen  a  thousand 
miners  in  less  than  two  miles  of  the  gulch,  and  then 
she  could  not  see  up  the  draws  and  washes  that 
intersected  the  slope,  and  she  could  not  see  beyond 
the  camp. 

But  it  was  not  a  camp  which  she  was  entering; 
it  was  a  tent- walled  town,  a  city  of  squat  log 
cabins,  a  long,  motley,  checkered  jumble  of  struc 
tures  thrown  up  and  together  in  mad  haste.  The 
wide  road  split  it  in  the  middle  and  seemed  a  stream 
of  color  and  life.  Joan  rode  between  two  lines  of 
horses,  burros,  oxen,  mules,  packs  and  loads  and 
canvas-domed  wagons  and  gaudy  vehicles  resembling 
gipsy  caravans.  The  street  was  as  busy  as  a  bee 
hive  and  as  noisy  as  a  bedlam.  The  sidewalks  were 
rough-hewn  planks  and  they  rattled  under  the  tread 
of  booted  men.  There  were  tents  on  the  ground  and 
tents  on  floors  and  tents  on  log  walls.  And  farther 
on  began  the  lines  of  cabins — stores  and  shops  and 
saloons — and  then  a  great,  square,  flat  structure  with 
a  flaring  sign  in  crude  gold  letters,  "Last  Nugget," 
from  which  came  the  creak  of  fiddles  and  scrape  of 
boots,  and  hoarse  mirth.  Joan  saw  strange,  wild- 
looking  creatures — women  that  made  her  shrink; 
and  several  others  of  her  sex,  hurrying  along,  carry 
ing  sacks  or  buckets,  worn  and  bewildered-looking 
women,  the  sight  of  whom  gave  her  a  pang.  She 
saw  lounging  Indians  and  groups  of  lazy,  bearded 

207 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

men,  just  like  Kells's  band,  and  gamblers  in  long, 
black  coats,  and  frontiersmen  in  fringed  buckskin, 
and  Mexicans  with  swarthy  faces  under  wide,  peaked 
sombreros;  and  then  in  great  majority,  dominating 
that  stream  of  life,  the  lean  and  stalwart  miners,  of 
all  ages,  in  their  check  shirts  and  high  boots,  all 
packing  guns,  jostling  along,  dark-browed,  somber, 
and  intent.  These  last  were  the  workers  of  this 
vast  beehive;  the  others  were  the  drones,  the 
parasites. 

Kells's  party  rode  on  through  the  town,  and 
Smith  halted  them  beyond  the  outskirts,  near  a 
grove  of  spruce-trees,  where  camp  was  to  be  made. 

Joan  pondered  over  her  impression  of  Alder  Creek. 
It  was  confused;  she  had  seen  too  much.  But  out 
of  what  she  had  seen  and  heard  loomed  two  contrast 
ing  features:  a  throng  of  toiling  miners,  slaves  to 
their  lust  for  gold  and  actuated  by  ambitions,  hopes, 
and  aims,  honest,  rugged,  tireless  workers,  but 
frenzied  in  that  strange  pursuit ;  and  a  lesser  crowd, 
like  leeches,  living  for  and  off  the  gold  they  did  not 
dig  with  blood  of  hand  and  sweat  of  brow. 

Manifestly  Jesse  Smith  had  selected  the  spot  for 
Kells's  permanent  location  at  Alder  Creek  with  an 
eye  for  the  bandit's  peculiar  needs.  It  was  out  of 
sight  of  town,  yet  within  a  hundred  rods  of  the  near 
est  huts,  and  closer  than  that  to  a  sawmill.  It 
could  be  approached  by  a  shallow  ravine  that 
wound  away  toward  the  creek.  It  was  backed  up 
against  a  rugged  bluff  in  which  there  was  a  narrow 
gorge,  choked  with  pieces  of  weathered  cliff;  and  no 
doubt  the  bandits  could  go  and  come  in  that 

208 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

direction.  There  was  a  spring  near  at  hand  and  a 
grove  of  spruce-trees.  The  ground  was  rocky,  and 
apparently  unfit  for  the  digging  of  gold. 

While  Bate  Wood  began  preparations  for  supper, 
and  Cleve  built  the  fire,  and  Smith  looked  after  the 
horses,  Kells  and  Pearce  stepped  off  the  ground 
where  the  cabin  was  to  be  erected.  They  selected  a 
level  bench  down  upon  which  a  huge  cracked  rock, 
as  large  as  a  house,  had  rolled.  The  cabin  was  to  be 
backed  up  against  this  stone,  and  in  the  rear,  under 
cover  of  it,  a  secret  exit  could  be  made  and  hidden. 
The  bandit  wanted  two  holes  to  his  burrow. 

When  the  group  sat  down  to  the  meal  the  gulch 
was  full  of  sunset  colors.  And,  strangely,  they  were 
all  some  shade  of  gold.  Beautiful  golden  veils,  misty, 
ethereal,  shone  in  rays  across  the  gulch  from  the 
broken  ramparts;  and  they  seemed  so  brilliant,  so 
rich,  prophetic  of  the  treasures  of  the  hills.  But 
that  golden  sunset  changed.  The  sun  went  down 
red,  leaving  a  sinister  shadow  over  the  gulch,  grow 
ing  darker  and  darker.  Joan  saw  Cleve  thought 
fully  watching  this  transformation,  and  she  won 
dered  if  he  had  caught  the  subtle  mood  of  nature. 
For  whatever  had  been  the  hope  and  brightness,  the 
golden  glory  of  this  new  Eldorado,  this  sudden  up 
rising  Alder  Creek  with  its  horde  of  brave  and  toil 
ing  miners,  the  truth  was  that  Jack  Kells  and  Gulden 
had  ridden  into  the  camp  and  the  sun  had  gone  down 
red.  Joan  knew  that  great  mining-camps  were 
always  happy,  rich,  free,  lucky,  honest  places  till 
the  fame  of  gold  brought  evil  men.  And  she  had 
not  the  slightest  doubt  that  the  sun  of  Alder  Creek's 
brief  and  glad  day  had  set  forever. 

209 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

Twilight  was  stealing  down  from  the  hills  when 
Kells  announced  to  his  party:  "Bate,  you  and 
Jesse  keep  camp.  Pearce,  you  look  out  for  any  of 
the  gang.  But  meet  in  the  dark!  .  .  .  Cleve,  you 
can  go  with  me."  Then  he  turned  to  Joan.  "Do 
you  want  to  go  with  us  to  see  the  sights  or  would 
you  rather  stay  here?" 

"I'd  like  to  go,  if  only  I  didn't  look  so — so  dread 
ful  in  this  suit,"  she  replied. 

Kells  laughed,  and  the  camp-fire  glare  lighted  the 
smiling  faces  of  Pearce  and  Smith. 

"Why,  you'll  not  be  seen.  And  you  look  far  from 
dreadful." 

"Can't  you  give  me  a — a  longer  coat?"  faltered 
Joan. 

Cleve  heard,  and  without  speaking  he  went  to  his 
saddle  and  unrolled  his  pack.  Inside  a  slicker  he 
had  a  gray  coat.  Joan  had  seen  it  many  a  time, 
and  it  brought  a  pang  with  memories  of  Hoadley. 
Had  that  been  years  ago?  Cleve  handed  this  coat 
to  Joan. 

"Thank  you,"  she  said. 

Kells  held  the  coat  for  her  and  she  slipped  into  it. 
She  seemed  lost.  It  was  long,  coming  way  below 
her  hips,  and  for  the  first  time  in  days  she  felt  she 
was  Joan  Ran  die  again. 

"Modesty  is  all  very  well  in  a  woman,  but  it's  not 
always  becoming, ' '  remarked  Kells.  ' '  Turn  up  your 
collar.  .  .  .  Pull  down  your  hat — farther—  There! 
If  you  won't  go  as  a  youngster  now  I'll  eat  Dandy 
Dale's  outfit  and  get  you  silk  dresses.  Ha-ha!" 

Joan  was  not  deceived  by  his  humor.  He  might 
like  to  look  at  her  in  that  outrageous  bandit  costume; 

210 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

it  might  have  pleased  certain  vain  and  notoriety- 
seeking  proclivities  of  his,  habits  of  his  California 
road-agent  days;  but  she  felt  that  notwithstanding 
this,  once  she  had  donned  the  long  coat  he  was  re 
lieved  and  glad  in  spite  of  himself.  Joan  had  a 
little  rush  of  feeling.  Sometimes  she  almost  liked 
this  bandit.  Once  he  must  have  been  something 
very  different. 

They  set  out,  Joan  between  Kells  and  Cleve. 
How  strange  for  her!  She  had  daring  enough  to 
feel  for  Jim's  hand  in  the  dark  and  to  give  it  a 
squeeze.  Then  he  nearly  broke  her  fingers.  She  felt 
the  fire  in  him.  It  was  indeed  a  hard  situation  for 
him.  The  walking  was  rough,  owing  to  the  uneven 
road  and  the  stones.  Several  times  Joan  stumbled 
and  her  spurs  jangled.  They  passed  ruddy  camp- 
fires,  where  steam  and  smoke  arose  with  savory 
odors,  where  red-faced  men  were  eating;  and  they 
passed  other  camp-fires,  burned  out  and  smoldering. 
Some  tents  had  dim  lights,  throwing  shadows  on  the 
canvas,  and  others  were  dark.  There  were  men  on 
the  road,  all  headed  for  town,  gay,  noisy,  and 
profane. 

Then  Joan  saw  uneven  rows  of  lights,  some  dim 
and  some  bright,  and  crossing  before  them  were 
moving  dark  figures.  Again  Kells  bethought  him 
self  of  his  own  disguise,  and  buried  his  chin  in  his 
scarf  and  pulled  his  wide-brimmed  hat  down  so  that 
hardly  a  glimpse  of  his  face  could  be  seen.  Joan 
could  not  have  recognized  him  at  the  distance  of  a 
yard. 

They  walked  down  the  middle  of  the  road,  past 
the  noisy  saloons,  past  the  big,  flat  structure  with  its 

211 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

sign  "Last  Nugget"  and  its  open  windows,  where 
shafts  of  light  shone  forth,  and  all  the  way  down  to 
the  end  of  town.  Then  Kells  turned  back.  He 
scrutinized  each  group  of  men  he  met.  He  was 
looking  for  members  of  his  Border  Legion.  Several 
times  he  left  Cleve  and  Joan  standing  in  the  road 
while  he  peered  into  saloons.  At  these  brief  inter 
vals  Joan  looked  at  Cleve  with  all  her  heart  in  her 
eyes.  He  never  spoke.  He  seemed  under  a  strain. 
Upon  the  return,  when  they  reached  the  Last 
Nugget,  Kells  said: 

"Jim,  hang  on  to  her  like  grim  death!  She's 
worth  more  than  all  the  gold  in  Alder  Creek !" 

Then  they  started  for  the  door. 

Joan  clung  to  Cleve  on  one  side,  and  on  the  other, 
instinctively  with  a  frightened  girl's  action,  she  let  go 
Kells's  arm  and  slipped  her  hand  in  his.  He  seemed 
startled.  He  bent  to  her  ear,  for  the  din  made 
ordinary  talk  indistinguishable.  That  involuntary 
hand  in  his  evidently  had  pleased  and  touched  him, 
even  hurt  him,  for  his  whisper  was  husky. 

"It's  all  right — you're  perfectly  safe." 

First  Joan  made  out  a  glare  of  smoky  lamps,  a 
huge  place  full  of  smoke  and  men  and  sounds. 
Kells  led  the  way  slowly.  He  had  his  own  reason  for 
observance.  There  was  a  stench  that  sickened  Joan 
— a  blended  odor  of  tobacco  and  rum  and  wet  saw 
dust  and  smoking  oil.  There  was  a  noise  that  ap 
peared  almost  deafening — the  loud  talk  and  vacant 
laughter  of  drinking  men,  and  a  din  of  creaky 
riddles  and  scraping  boots  and  boisterous  mirth. 
This  last  and  dominating  sound  came  from  an  ad- 
ioining  room,  which  Joan  could  see  through  a  wide 

212 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

opening.  There  was  dancing,  but  Joan  could  not 
see  the  dancers  because  of  the  intervening  crowd. 
Then  her  gaze  came  back  to  the  features  nearer  at 
hand.  Men  and  youths  were  lined  up  to  a  long  bar 
nearly  as  high  as  her  head.  Then  there  were  excited 
shouting  groups  round  gambling  games.  There  were 
men  in  clusters,  sitting  on  upturned  kegs,  round  a 
box  for  a  table,  and  dirty  bags  of  gold-dust  were 
in  evidence.  The  gamblers  at  the  cards  were  silent, 
in  strange  contrast  with  the  others;  and  in  each 
group  was  at  least  one  dark-garbed,  hard-eyed 
gambler  who  was  not  a  miner.  Joan  saw  boys  not 
yet  of  age,  flushed  and  haggard,  wild  with  the  frenzy 
of  winning  and  cast  down  in  defeat.  There  were 
jovial,  grizzled,  old  prospectors  to  whom  this  scene 
and  company  were  pleasant  reminder  of  bygone 
days.  There  were  desperados  whose  glittering  eyes 
showed  they  had  no  gold  with  which  to  gamble. 

Joan  suddenly  felt  Kells  start  and  she  believed 
she  heard  a  low,  hissing  exclamation.  And  she 
looked  for  the  cause.  Then  she  saw  familiar  dark 
faces;  they  belonged  to  men  of  Kells's  Legion. 
And  with  his  broad  back  to  her  there  sat  the  giant 
Gulden.  Already  he  and  his  allies  had  gotten  to 
gether  in' defiance  of  or  indifference  to  Kells's  orders. 
Some  of  them  were  already  under  the  influence  of 
drink,  but,  though  they  saw  Kells,  they  gave  no  sign 
of  recognition.  Gulden  did  not  see  Joan,  and  for 
thajt  she  was  thankful.  And  whether  or  not  his 
presence  caused  it,  the  fact  was  that  she  suddenly  felt 
as  much  of  a  captive  as  she  had  in  Cabin  Gulch,  and 
feared  that  here  escape  would  be  harder  because  in  a 
community  like  this  Kells  would  watch  her  closely. 

213 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

Kells  led  Joan  and  Cleve  from  one  part  of  the 
smoky  hall  to  another,  and  they  looked  on  at  the 
games  and  the  strange  raw  life  manifested  there. 
The  place  was  getting  packed  with  men.  Kells's 
party  encountered  Blicky  and  Beady  Jones  together. 
They  passed  by  as  strangers.  Then  Joan  saw  Beard 
and  Chick  Williams  arm  in  arm,  strolling  about,  like 
roystering  miners.  Williams  telegraphed  a  keen, 
fleeting  glance  at  Kells,  then  went  on,  to  be  lost  in  the 
crowd.  Handy  Oliver  brushed  by  Kells,  jostled 
him,  apparently  by  accident,  and  he  said,  "  Excuse 
me,  mister!"  There  were  other  familiar  faces. 
Kells's  gang  were  all  in  Alder  Creek  and  the  dark 
machinations  of  the  bandit  leader  had  been  put  into 
operation.  What  struck  Joan  forcibly  was  that, 
though  there  were  hilarity  and  comradeship,  they 
were  not  manifested  in  any  general  way.  These 
miners  were  strangers  to  one  another ;  the  groups  were 
strangers;  the  gamblers  were  strangers;  the  new 
comers  were  strangers;  and  over  all  hung  an  at 
mosphere  of  distrust.  Good-fellowship  abided  only 
in  the  many  small  companies  of  men  who  stuck 
together.  The  mining-camps  that  Joan  had  visited 
had  been  composed  of  an  assortment  of  prospectors 
and  hunters  who  made  one  big,  jolly  family.  This 
was  a  gold  strike,  and  the  difference  was  obvious. 
The  hunting  for  gold  was  one  thing,  in  its  relation 
to  the  searchers;  after  it  had  been  found,  in  a  rich 
field,  the  conditions  of  life  and  character  changed. 
Gold  had  always  seemed  wonderful  and  beautiful  to 
Joan;  she  absorbed  here  something  that  was  the 
nucleus  of  hate.  Why  could  not  these  miners,  young 
and  old,  stay  in  their  camps  and  keep  their  gold? 

214 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

That  was  the  fatality.  The  pursuit  was  a  dream— 
a  glittering  allurement;  the  possession  incited  a  lust 
for  more,  and  that  was  madness.  Joan  felt  that  in 
these  reckless,  honest  miners  there  was  a  liberation 
of  the  same  wild  element  which  was  the  driving 
passion  of  Kells's  Border  Legion.  Gold,  then,  was  a 
terrible  thing. 

''Take  me  in  there,"  said  Joan,  conscious  of  her 
own  excitement,  and  she  indicated  the  dance-hall. 

Kells  laughed  as  if  at  her  audacity.  But  he  ap 
peared  reluctant. 

"Please  take  me — unless — "  Joan  did  not  know 
what  to  add,  but  she  meant  unless  it  was  not  right 
for  her  to  see  any  more.  A  strange  curiosity  had 
stirred  in  her.  After  all,  this  place  where  she  now 
stood  was  not  greatly  different  from  the  picture 
imagination  had  conjured  up.  That  dance-hall, 
however,  was  beyond  any  creation  of  Joan's  mind, 

"Let  me  have  a  look  first,"  said  Kells,  and  he  left 
Joan  with  Cleve. 

When  he  had  gone  Joan  spoke  without  looking  at 
Cleve,  though  she  held  fast  to  his  arm. 

"Jim,  it  could  be  dreadful  here — all  in  a  minute!" 
she  whispered. 

"You've  struck  it  exactly,"  he  replied.  "All 
Alder  Creek  needed  to  make  it  hell  was  Kells  and  his 
gang." 

"Thank  Heaven  I  turned  you  back  in  time!  .  .  . 
Jim,  you'd  have — have  gone  the  pace  here." 

He  nodded  grimly.  Then  Kells  returned  and  led 
them  back  through  the  room  to  another  door  where 
spectators  were  fewer.  Joan  saw  perhaps  a  dozen 
couples  of  rough,  whirling,  jigging  dancers  in  a  half- 

215 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

circle  of  watching  men.  The  hall  was  a  wide  platform 
of  boards  with  posts  holding  a  canvas  roof.  The 
sides  were  open ;  the  lights  were  situated  at  each  end 
— huge,  round,  circus-tent  lamps.  There  were  rude 
benches  and  tables  where  reeling  men  surrounded  a 
woman.  Joan  saw  a  young  miner  in  dusty  boots  and 
corduroys  lying  drunk  or  dead  in  the  sawdust. 
Her  eyes  were  drawn  back  to  the  dancers,  and  to  the 
dance  that  bore  some  semblance  to  a  waltz.  In 
the  din  the  music  could  scarcely  be  heard.  As  far 
as  the  men  were  concerned  this  dance  was  a  bold  and 
violent  expression  of  excitement  on  the  part  of  some, 
and  for  the  rest  a  drunken,  mad  fling.  Sight  of  the 
women  gave  Joan's  curiosity  a  blunt  check.  She 
felt  queer.  She  had  not  seen  women  like  these,  and 
their  dancing,  their  actions,  their  looks,  were  beyond 
her  understanding.  Nevertheless,  they  shocked  her, 
disgusted  her,  sickened  her.  And  suddenly  when 
it  dawned  upon  her  in  unbelievable  vivid  suggestion 
that  they  were  the  wildest  and  most  terrible  element 
of  this  dark  stream  of  humanity  lured  by  .gold,  then 
she  was  appalled. 

"Take  me  out  of  here!"  she  besought  Kells,  and  he 
led  her  out  instantly.  They  went  through  the 
gambling-hall  and  into  the  crowded  street,  back 
toward  camp. 

"You  saw  enough,"  said  Kells,  "but  nothing  to 
what  will  break  out  by  and  by.  This  camp  is  new. 
It's  rich.  Gold  is  the  cheapest  thing.  It  passes 
from  hand  to  hand.  Ten  dollars  an  ounce.  Buyers 
don't  look  at  the  scales.  Only  the  gamblers  are 
crooked.  But  all  this  will  change." 

Kells  did  not  say  what  that  change  might  be, 
216 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

but  the  click  of  his  teeth  was  expressive.  Joan  did 
not,  however,  gather  from  it,  and  the  dark  meaning 
of  his  tone,  that  the  Border  Legion  would  cause  this 
change.  That  was  in  the  nature  of  events.  A  great 
strike  of  gold  might  enrich  the  world,  but  it  was  a 
catastrophe. 

Long  into  the  night  Joan  lay  awake,  and  at  times, 
stirring  the  silence,  there  was  wafted  to  her  on  a 
breeze  the  low,  strange  murmur  of  the  gold-camp's 
strife. 

Joan  slept  late  next  morning,  and  was  awakened 
by  the  unloading  of  lumber.  Teams  were  drawing 
planks  from  the  sawmill.  Already  a  skeleton  frame 
work  for  Kells's  cabin  had  been  erected.  Jim  Cleve 
was  working  with  the  others,  and  they  were  sacri 
ficing  thoroughness  to  haste.  Joan  had  to  cook  her 
own  breakfast,  which  task  was  welcome,  and  after 
it  had  been  finished  she  wished  for  something  more 
to  occupy  her  mind.  But  nothing  offered.  Finding 
a  comfortable  seat  among  some  rocks  where  she 
would  be  inconspicuous,  she  looked  on  at  the  building 
of  Kells's  cabin.  It  seemed  strange,  and  somehow 
comforting,  to  watch  Jim  Cleve  work.  He  had 
never  been  a  great  worker.  Would  this  experience 
on  the  border  make  a  man  of  him?  She  felt  assured 
of  that. 

.  If  ever  a  cabin  sprang  up  like  a  mushroom,  that 
bandit  rendezvous  was  the  one.  Kells  worked  him 
self,  and  appeared  no  mean  hand.  By  noon  the  roof 
of  clapboards  was  on,  and  the  siding  of  the  same 
material  had  been  started.  Evidently  there  was  not 
to  be  a  fireplace  inside. 

217 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

Then  a  teamster  drove  up  with  a  wagon-load  of 
purchases  Kells  had  ordered.  Kells  helped  unload 
this  and  evidently  was  in  search  of  articles.  Pres 
ently  he  found  them,  and  then  approached  Joan,  to 
deposit  before  her  an  assortment  of  bundles  little 
and  big. 

'  *  There,  Miss  Modesty, ' '  he  said .  '  *  Make  yourself 
some  clothes.  You  can  shake  Dandy  Dale's  out 
fit,  except  when  we're  on  the  trail.  .  .  .  And,  say,  if 
you  knew  what  I  had  to  pay  for  this  stuff  you'd 
think  there  was  a  bigger  robber  in  Alder  Creek  than 
Jack  Kells.  .  .  .  And,  come  to  think  of  it,  my  name's 
now  Blight.  You're  my  daughter,  if  any  one 
asks." 

Joan  was  so  grateful  to  him  for  the  goods  and  the 
permission  to  get  out  of  Dandy  Dale's  suit  as  soon 
as  possible,  that  she  could  only  smile  her  thanks. 
Kells  stared  at  her,  then  turned  abruptly  away. 
Those  little  unconscious  acts  of  hers  seemed  to 
affect  him  strangely.  Joan  remembered  that  he  had 
intended  to  parade  her  in  Dandy  Dale's  costume 
to  gratify  some  vain  abnormal  side  of  his  bandit's 
proclivities.  He  had  weakened.  Here  was  another 
subtle  indication  of  the  deterioration  of  the  evil  of 
him.  How  far  would  it  go  ?  Joan  thought  dreamily, 
and  with  a  swelling  heart,  of  her  influence  upon  this 
hardened  bandit,  upon  that  wild  boy,  Jim  Cleve. 

All  that  afternoon,  and  part  of  the  evening  in  the 
camp-fire  light,  and  all  of  the  next  day  Joan  sewed, 
so  busy  that  she  scarcely  lifted  her  eyes  from  her 
work.  The  following  day  she  finished  her  dress, 
and  with  no  little  pride,  for  she  had  both  taste  and 
skill.  Of  the  men,  Bate  Wood  had  been  most  in- 

218 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

terested  in  her  task;    and  he  would  let  things  burn 
on  the  fire  to  watch  her. 

That  day  the  rude  cabin  was  completed.  It 
contained  one  long  room;  and  at  the  back  a  small 
compartment  partitioned  off  from  the  rest,  and 
built  against  and  around  a  shallow  cavern  in  the  huge 
rock.  This  compartment  was  for  Joan.  There 
were  a  rude  board  door  with  padlock  and  key,  a 
bench  upon  which  blankets  had  been  flung,  a  small 
square  hole  cut  in  the  wall  to  serve  as  a  window. 
What  with  her  own  few  belongings  and  the  articles 
of  furniture  that  Kells  bought  for  her,  Joan  soon  had 
a  comfortable  room,  even  a  luxury  compared  to  what 
she  had  been  used  to  for  weeks.  Certain  it  was  that 
Kells  meant  to  keep  her  a  prisoner,  or  virtually  so. 
Joan  had  no  sooner  spied  the  little  window  than  she 
thought  that  it  would  be  possible  for  Jim  Cleve  to 
talk  to  her  there  from  the  outside. 

Kells  verified  Joan's  suspicion  by  telling  her  that 
she  was  not  to  leave  the  cabin  of  her  own  accord,  as 
she  had  been  permitted  to  do  back  in  Cabin  Gulch; 
and  Joan  retorted  that  there  she  had  made  him  a 
promise  not  to  run  away,  which  promise  she  now 
took  back.  That  promise  had  worried  her.  She 
was  glad  to  be  honest  with  Kells.  He  gazed  at  her 
somberly. 

"You'll  be  worse  off  if  you  do — and  I'll  be  better 
off,"  he  said.  And  then  as  an  afterthought  he 
added:  "Gulden  might  not  think  you — a  white 
elephant  on  his  hands !  .  .  .  Remember  his  way,  the 
cave  and  the  rope!" 

So,  instinctively  or  cruelly  he  chose  the  right  name 
to  bring  shuddering  terror  into  Joan's  soul. 
15  219 


CHAPTER  XIV 

JOAN'S  opportunity  for  watching  Kells  and  his 
men  and  overhearing  their  colloquies  was  as 
good  as  it  had  been  back  in  Cabin  Gulch.  But  it 
developed  that  where  Kells  had  been  open  and  frank 
he  now  became  secret  and  cautious.  She  was  aware 
that  men,  singly  and  in  couples,  visited  him  during 
the  early  hours  of  the  night,  and  they  had  confer 
ences  in  low,  earnest  tones.  She  could  peer  out  of 
her  little  window  and  see  dark,  silent  forms  come 
up  from  the  ravine  at  the  back  of  the  cabin,  and 
leave  the  same  way.  None  of  them  went  round  to 
the  front  door,  where  Bate  Wood  smoked  and  kept 
guard.  Joan  was  able  to  hear  only  scraps  of  these 
earnest  talks;  and  from  part  of  one  she  gathered 
that  for  some  reason  or  other  Kells  desired  to  bring 
himself  into  notice.  Alder  Creek  must  be  made  to 
know  that  a  man  of  importance  had  arrived.  It 
seemed  to  Joan  that  this  was  the  very  last  thing 
which  Kells  ought  to  do.  What  magnificent  daring 
the  bandit  had!  Famous  years  before  in  California 
—with  a  price  set  upon  his  life  in  Nevada — and  now 
the  noted,  if  unknown,  leader  of  border  robbers  in 
Idaho,  he  sought  to  make  himself  prominent,  re 
spected,  and  powerful.  Joan  found  that  in  spite  of 
her  horror  at  the  sinister  and  deadly  nature  of  the 

220 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

bandit's  enterprise  she  could  not  avoid  an  absorbing 
interest  in  his  fortunes. 

Next  day  Joan  watched  for  an  opportunity  to  tell 
Jim  Cleve  that  he  might  come  to  her  little  window 
any  time  after  dark  to  talk  and  plan  with  her. 
No  chance  presented  itself.  Joan  wore  the  dress  she 
had  made,  to  the  evident  pleasure  of  Bate  Wood  and 
Pearce.  They  had  conceived  as  strong  an  interest 
in  her  fortunes  as  she  had  in  Kells's.  Wood  nodded 
his  approval  and  Pearce  said  she  was  a  lady  once 
more.  Strange  it  was  to  Joan  that  this  villain 
Pearce,  whom  she  could  not  have  dared  trust,  grew 
open  in  his  insinuating  hints  of  Kells's  blackguardism. 
Strange  because  Pearce  was  absolutely  sincere! 

When  Jim  Cleve  did  see  Joan  in  her  dress  the  first 
time  he  appeared  so  glad  and  relieved  and  grateful 
that  she  feared  he  might  betray  himself,  so  she  got 
out  of  his  sight. 

Not  long  after  that  Kells  called  her  from  her  room. 
He  wore  his  somber  and  thoughtful  cast  of  coun 
tenance.  Red  Pearce  and  Jesse  Smith  were  standing 
at  attention.  Cleve  was  sitting  on  the  threshold  of 
the  door  and  Wood  leaned  against  the  wall. 

"Is  there  anything  in  the  pack  of  stuff  I  bought 
you  that  you  could  use  for  a  veil?"  asked  Kells  of 
Joan. 

"Yes,"  she  replied. 

' '  Get  it , "  he  ordered.     ' '  And  your  hat,  too. " 

Joan  went  to  her  room  and  returned  with  the 
designated  articles,  the  hat  being  that  which  she 
had  worn  when  she  left  Hoadley. 

"That  '11  do.  Put  it  on — over  your  face — and 
let's  see  how  you  look." 

221 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

Joan  complied  with  this  request,  all  the  time 
wondering  what  Kells  meant. 

"I  want  it  to  disguise  you,  but  not  to  hide  your 
youth — your  good  looks,"  he  said,  and  he  arranged 
it  differently  about  her  face.  "There!  .  .  .  You'd 
sure  make  any  man  curious  to  see  you  now.  .  .  .  Put 
on  the  hat." 

Joan  did  so.  Then  Kells  appeared  to  become  more 
forcible. 

"You're  to  go  down  into  the  town.  Walk  slow  as 
far  as  the  Last  Nugget.  Cross  the  road  and  come 
back.  Look  at  every  man  you  meet  or  see  standing 
by.  Don't  be  in  the  least  frightened.  Pearce  and 
Smith  will  be  right  behind  you.  They'd  get  to  you 
before  anything  could  happen.  .  .  .  Do  you  under 
stand?" 

"Yes,"  replied  Joan. 

Red  Pearce  stirred  uneasily.  "Jack,  I'm  thinkin' 
some  rough  talk  '11  come  her  way,"  he  said, 
darkly. 

"Will  you  shut  up!"  replied  Kells  in  quick  pas 
sion.  He  resented  some  implication.  "I've  thought 
of  that.  She  won't  hear  what's  said  to  her.  .  .  . 
Here,"  and  he  turned  again  to  Joan,  "take  some 
cotton — or  anything — and  stuff  up  your  ears.  Make 
a  good  job  of  it." 

Joan  went  back  to  her  room  and,  looking  about 
for  something  with  which  to  execute  Kells 's  last 
order,  she  stripped  some  soft,  woolly  bits  from  a 
fleece-lined  piece  of  cloth.  With  these  she  essayed 
to  deaden  her  hearing.  Then  she  returned.  Kells 
spoke  to  her,  but,  though  she  seemed  dully  to  hear 
his  voice,  she  could  not  distinguish  what  he  said, 

222 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

She  shook  her  head.  With  that  Kells  waved  her 
out  upon  her  strange  errand. 

Joan  brushed  against  Cleve  as  she  crossed  the 
threshold.  What  would  he  think  of  this  ?  She  could 
not  see  his  face.  When  she  reached  the  first  tents 
she  could  not  resist  the  desire  to  look  back.  Pearce 
was  within  twenty  yards  of  her  and  Smith  about  the 
same  distance  farther  back.  Joan  was  more  curious 
than  anything  else.  She  divined  that  Kells  wanted 
her  to  attract  attention,  but  for  what  reason  she  was 
at  a  loss  to  say.  It  was  significant  that  he  did  not 
intend  to  let  her  suffer  any  indignity  while  fulfilling 
this  mysterious  mission. 

Not  until  Joan  got  well  down  the  road  toward 
the  Last  Nugget  did  any  one  pay  any  attention  to 
her.  A  Mexican  jabbered  at  her,  showing  his  white 
teeth,  flashing  his  sloe-black  eyes.  Young  miners 
eyed  her  curiously,  and  some  of  them  spoke.  She 
met  all  kinds  of  men  along  the  plank  walk,  most  of 
whom  passed  by,  apparently  unobserving.  She 
obeyed  Kells  to  the  letter.  But  for  some  reason  she 
was  unable  to  explain,  when  she  got  to  the  row  of 
saloons,  where  lounging,  evil-eyed  rowdies  accosted 
her,  she  found  she  had  to  disobey  him,  at  least  in 
one  particular.  She  walked  faster.  Still  that  did 
not  make  her  task  much  easier.  It  began  to  be  an 
ordeal.  The  farther  she  got  the  bolder  men  grew. 
Could  it  have  been  that  Kells  wanted  this  sort  of 
thing  to  happen  to  her?  Joan  had  no  idea  what 
these  men  meant,  but  she  believed  that  was  because 
for  the  time  being  she  was  deaf.  Assuredly  their 
looks  were  not  a  compliment  to  any  girl.  Joan 
wanted  to  hurry  now,  and  she  had  to  force  herself 

223 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

to  walk  at  a  reasonable  gait.  One  persistent  fellow 
walked  beside  her  for  several  steps.  Joan  was  not 
fool  enough  not  to  realize  now  that  these  wayfarers 
wanted  to  make  her  acquaintance.  And  she  decided 
she  would  have  something  to  say  to  Kells  when  she 
got  back. 

Below  the  Last  Nugget  she  crossed  the  road  and 
started  upon  the  return  trip.  In  front  of  this 
gambling-hell  there  were  scattered  groups  of  men, 
standing,  and  going  in.  A  tall  man  in  black  de 
tached  himself  and  started  out,  as  if  to  intercept 
her.  He  wore  a  long  black  coat,  a  black  bow  tie,  and 
a  black  sombrero.  He  had  little,  hard,  piercing 
eyes,  as  black  as  his  dress.  He  wore  gloves  and 
looked  immaculate,  compared  with  the  other  men. 
He,  too,  spoke  to  Joan,  turned  to  walk  with  her. 
She  looked  straight  ahead  now,  frightened,  and  she 
wanted  to  run.  He  kept  beside  her,  apparently  talk 
ing.  Joan  heard  only  the  low  sound  of  his  voice. 
Then  he  took  her  arm,  gently,  but  with  familiarity. 
Joan  broke  from  him  and  quickened  her  pace. 

'  *  Say,  there !     Leave  thet  girl  alone !" 

This  must  have  been  yelled,  for  Joan  certainly 
heard  it.  She  recognized  Red  Pearce's  voice. 
And  she  wheeled  to  look.  Pearce  had  overhauled 
the  gambler,  and  already  men  were  approaching. 
Involuntarily  Joan  halted.  What  would  happen? 
The  gambler  spoke  to  Pearce,  made  what  appeared 
deprecating  gestures,  as  if  to  explain.  But  Pearce 
looked  angry. 

"I'll  tell  her  daddy!"  he  shouted. 

Joan  waited  for  no  more.  She  almost  ran. 
There  would  surely  be  a  fight.  Could  that  have 

224 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

been  Kells's  intention?  Whatever  it  was,  she  had 
been  subjected  to  a  mortifying  and  embarrassing 
affront.  She  was  angry,  and  she  thought  it  might 
be  just  as  well  to  pretend  to  be  furious.  Kells  must 
not  use  her  for  his  nefarious  schemes.  She  hurried 
on,  and,  to  her  surprise,  when  she  got  within  sight  of 
the  cabin  both  Pearce  and  Smith  had  almost  caught 
up  with  her.  Jim  Cteve  sat  where  she  had  last 
seen  him.  Also  Kells  was  outside.  The  way  he 
strode  to  and  fro  showed  Joan  his  anxiety.  There 
was  more  to  this  incident  than  she  could  fathom. 
She  took  the  padding  from  her  ears,  to  her  intense 
relief,  and,  soon  reaching  the  cabin,  she  tore  off  the 
veil  and  confronted  Kells. 

" Wasn't  that  a — a  fine  thing  for  you  to  do?"  she 
demanded,  furiously.  And  with  the  outburst  she 
felt  her  face  blazing.  "If  I'd  any  idea  what  you 
meant — you  couldn't — have  driven  me! ...  I  trusted 
you.  And  you  sent  me  down  there  on  some — shame 
ful  errand  of  yours.  You're  no  gentleman!" 

Joan  realized  that  her  speech,  especially  the  latter 
part,  was  absurd.  But  it  had  a  remarkable  effect 
upon  Kells.  His  face  actually  turned  red.  He 
stammered  something  and  halted,  seemingly  at  a 
loss  for  words.  How  singularly  the  slightest  hint 
of  any  act  or  word  of  hers  that  approached  a  possi 
ble  respect  or  tolerance  worked  upon  this  bandit! 
He  started  toward  Joan  appealingly,  but  she  passed 
him  in  contempt  and  went  to  her  room.  She  heard 
him  cursing  Pearce  in  a  rage,  evidently  blaming  his 
lieutenant  for  whatever  had  angered  her. 

"But  you  wanted  her  insulted!"  protested  Pearce, 
hotly. 

225 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

"You  mullet-head!"  roared  Kells.  "I  wanted 
some  man — any  man — to  get  just  near  enough  to 
her  so  I  could  swear  she'd  been  insulted.  You  let 
her  go  through  that  camp  to  meet  real  insult!  .  .  . 
Why — !  Pearce,  I've  a  mind  to  shoot  you!" 

"Shoot!"  retorted  Pearce.  "I  obeyed  orders  as  I 
saw  them.  .  .  .  An'  I  want  to  say  right  here  thet 
when  it  comes  to  any  thin'  concernin'  this  girl 
you're  plumb  off  your  nut.  That's  what.  An'  you 
can  like  it  or  lump  it !  I  said  before  you'd  split  over 
this  girl.  An'  I  say  it  now!" 

Through  the  door  Joan  had  a  glimpse  of  Cleve 
stepping  between  the  angry  men.  This  seemed  un 
necessary,  however,  for  Pearce's  stinging  assertion 
had  brought  Kells  to  himself.  There  were  a  few 
more  words,  too  low  for  Joan's  ears,  and  then,  accom 
panied  by  Smith,  the  three  started  off,  evidently  for 
the  camp.  Joan  left  her  room  and  watched  them 
from  the  cabin  door.  Bate  Wood  sat  outside, 
smoking. 

"I'm  declarin'  my  hand,"  he  said  to  Joan,  feel 
ingly.  "I'd  never  hev  stood  for  thet  scurvy  trick. 
Now,  miss,  this's  the  toughest  camp  I  ever  seen. 
I  mean  tough  as  to  wimmen !  For  it  'ain't  begun  to 
fan  guns  an'  steal  gold  yet." 

"Why  did  Kells  want  me  insulted?"  asked  Joan. 

"Wai,  he's  got  to  hev  a  reason  for  raisin'  an  orful 
fuss,"  replied  Wood. 

"Fuss?" 

"Shore,"  replied  Wood,  dryly. 

"What  for?" 

"Jest  so  he  can  walk  out  on  the  stage,"  rejoined 
Wood,  evasively. 

226 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

"It's  mighty  strange,"  said  Joan. 

"I  reckon  all  about  Mr.  Kells  is  some  strange 
these  days.  Red  Pearce  had  it  correct.  Kells  is 
a-goin'  to  split  on  you!" 

"What  do  you  mean  by  that?" 

"Wai,  he'll  go  one  way  an'  the  gang  another." 

"Why?"  asked  Joan,  earnestly. 

"Miss,  there's  some  lot  of  reasons,"  said  Wood, 
deliberately.  ' ' Fust,  he  did  for  Halloway  an'  Bailey, 
not  because  they  wanted  to  treat  you  as  he  meant  to, 
but  jest  because  he  wanted  to  be  alone.  We're  all 
wise  thet  you  shot  him — an'  thet  you  wasn't  his 
wife.  An'  since  then  we've  seen  him  gradually  lose 
his  nerve.  He  organizes  his  Legion  an'  makes  his 
plan  to  run  this  Alder  Creek  red.  He  still  hangs  on 
to  you.  He'd  kill  any  man  thet  batted  an  eye  at 
you.  .  .  .  An'  through  all  this,  because  he's  not  Jack 
Kells  of  old,  he's  lost  his  pull  with  the  gang.  Sooner 
or  later  he'll  split." 

"Have  I  any  real  friends  among  you?"  asked 
Joan. 

"Wai,  I  reckon." 

"Are  you  my  friend,  Bate  Wood?"  she  went  on 
in  sweet  wistfulness. 

The  grizzled  old  bandit  removed  his  pipe  and 
looked  at  her  with  a  glint  in  his  bloodshot  eyes. 

"I  shore  am.  I'll  sneak  you  off  now  if  you'll  go. 
I'll  stick  a  knife  in  Kells  if  you  say  so." 

"Oh  no,  I'm  afraid  to  run  off — and  you  needn't 
harm  Kells.  After  all,  he's  good  to  me." 

"Good  to  you!  .  .  .  When  he  keeps  you  captive 
like  an  Indian  would?  When  he's  given  me  orders 
to  watch  you — keep  you  locked  up?" 

227 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

Wood's  snort  of  disgust  and  wrath  was  thoroughly 
genuine.  Still  Joan  knew  that  she  dared  not  trust 
him,  any  more  than  Pearce  or  the  others.  Their 
raw  emotions  would  undergo  a  change  if  Kells 's 
possession  of  her  were  transferred  to  them.  It  oc 
curred  to  Joan,  however,  that  she  might  use  Wood's 
friendliness  to  some  advantage. 

"So  I'm  to  be  locked  up?"  she  asked. 

"  You're  supposed  to  be." 

"Without  any  one  to  talk  to?" 

"Wai,  you'll  hev  me,  when  you  want.  I  reckon 
thet  ain't  much  to  look  forward  to.  But  I  can  tell 
you  a  heap  of  stories.  An'  when  Kells  ain't  around, 
if  you're  careful  not  to  get  me  ketched,  you  can  do 
as  you  want." 

14 Thank  you,  Bate.  I'm  going  to  like  you,"  re 
plied  Joan,  sincerely,  and  then  she  went  back  to  her 
room.  There  was  sewing  to  do,  and  while  she 
worked  she  thought,  so  that  the  hours  sped.  When 
the  light  got  so  poor  that  she  could  sew  no  longer 
she  put  the  work  aside  and  stood  at  her  little 
window,  watching  the  sunset.  From  the  front  of 
the  cabin  came  the  sound  of  subdued  voices.  Prob 
ably  Kells  and  his  men  had  returned,  and  she  was 
sure  of  this  when  she  heard  the  ring  of  Bate  Wood's 
ax. 

All  at  once  an  object  darker  than  the  stones 
arrested  Joan's  gaze.  There  was  a  man  sitting  on 
the  far  side  of  the  little  ravine.  Instantly  she 
recognized  Jim  Cleve.  He  was  looking  at  the  little 
window — at  her.  Joan  believed  he  was  there  for 
just  that  purpose.  Making  sure  that  no  one  else 
was  near  to  see,  she  put  out  her  hand  and  waved  it, 

228 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

Jim  gave  a  guarded  perceptible  sign  that  he  had  ob 
served  her  action,  and  almost  directly  got  up  and 
left.  Joan  needed  no  more  than  that  to  tell  her 
how  Jim's  idea  of  communicating  with  her  corre 
sponded  with  her  own.  That  night  she  would  talk 
with  him  and  she  was  thrilled  through.  The 
secrecy,  the  peril,  somehow  lent  this  prospect  a  sweet 
ness,  a  zest,  a  delicious  fear.  Indeed,  she  was  not 
only  responding  to  love,  but  to  daring,  to  defiance, 
to  a  wilder  nameless  element  born  of  her  environ 
ment  and  the  needs  of  the  hour. 

Presently  Bate  Wood  called  her  in  to  supper. 
Pearce,  Smith,  and  Cleve  were  finding  seats  at  the 
table,  but  Kells  looked  rather  sick.  Joan  ob 
served  him  then  more  closely.  His  face  was  pale  and 
damp,  strangely  shaded  as  if  there  were  something 
dark  under  the  pale  skin.  Joan  had  never  seen  him 
appear  like  this,  and  she  shrank  as  from  another  and 
forbidding  side  of  the  man.  Pearce  and  Smith  acted 
naturally,  ate  with  relish,  and  talked  about  the  gold- 
diggings.  Cleve,  however,  was  not  as  usual;  and 
Joan  could  not  quite  make  out  what  constituted  the 
dissimilarity.  She  hurried  through  her  own  supper 
and  back  to  her  room. 

Already  it  was  dark  outside.  Joan  lay  down  to 
listen  and  wait.  It  seemed  long,  but  probably  was 
not  long  before  she  heard  the  men  go  outside,  and 
the  low  thump  of  their  footsteps  as  they  went  away. 
Then  came  the  rattle  and  bang  of  Bate  Wood's 
attack  on  the  pans  and  pots.  Bate  liked  to  cook, 
but  he  hated  to  clean  up  afterward.  By  and  by  he 
settled  down  outside  for  his  evening  smoke  and 
there  was  absolute  quiet.  Then  Joan  rose  to  stand 

229 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

at  the  window.  She  could  see  the  dark  mass  of  rock 
overhanging  the  cabin,  the  bluff  beyond,  and  the 
stars.  For  the  rest  all  was  gloom. 

She  did  not  have  to  wait  long.  A  soft  step,  almost 
indistinguishable,  made  her  pulse  beat  quicker. 
She  put  her  face  out  of  the  window,  and  on  the  instant 
a  dark  form  seemed  to  loom  up  to  meet  her  out  of  the 
shadow.  She  could  not  recognize  that  shape,  yet 
she  knew  it  belonged  to  Cleve. 

1  'Joan,"  he  whispered. 

"Jim,"  she  replied,  just  as  low  and  gladly. 

He  moved  closer,  so  that  the  hand  she  had  grop 
ingly  put  out  touched  him,  then  seemed  naturally 
to  slip  along  his  shoulder,  round  his  neck.  And  his 
face  grew  clearer  in  the  shadow.  His  lips  met  hers, 
and  Joan  closed  her  eyes  to  that  kiss.  What  hope, 
what  strength  for  him  and  for  her  now  in  that  meet 
ing  of  lips! 

"Oh,  Jim!  I'm  so  glad — to  have  you  near — to 
touch  you,"  she  whispered. 

"Do  you  love  me  still?"  he  whispered  back, 
tensely. 

"Still?     More— more!" 

"Say  it,  then." 

"Jim,  I  love  you!" 

And  their  lips  met  again  and  clung,  and  it  was  he 
who  drew  back  first. 

"Dearest,  why  didn't  you  let  me  make  a  break  to 
get  away  with  you — before  we  came  to  this  camp?" 

"Oh,  Jim,  I  told  you.  I  was  afraid.  We'd  been 
caught.  And  Gulden — " 

"We'll  never  have  half  the  chance  here.  Kells 
means  to  keep  you  closely  guarded.  I  heard  the 

230 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

order.  He's  different  now.  He's  grown  crafty  and 
hard.  And  the  miners  of  this  Alder  Creek!  Why, 
I'm  more  afraid  to  trust  them  than  men  like  Wood 
or  Pearce.  They've  gone  clean  crazy.  Gold-mad! 
If  you  shouted  for  your  life  they  wouldn't  hear  you. 
And  if  you  could  make  them  hear  they  wouldn't 
believe.  This  camp  has  sprung  up  in  a  night.  It's 
not  like  any  place  I  ever  heard  of.  It's  not  human. 
It's  so  strange — so —  Oh,  I  don't  know  what  to  say. 
I  think  I  mean  that  men  in  a  great  gold  strike  become 
like  coyotes  at  a  carcass.  You've  seen  that.  No 
relation  at  all!" 

''I'm  frightened,  too,  Jim.  I  wish  I'd  had  the 
courage  to  run  when  we  were  back  in  Cabin  Gulch. 
But  don't  ever  give  up,  not  for  a  second!  We  can 
get  away.  We  must  plan  and  wait.  Find  out 
where  we  are — how  far  from  Hoadley — what  we 
must  expect — whether  it's  safe  to  approach  any  one 
in  this  camp." 

"Safe!  I  guess  not,  after  to-day,"  he  whispered, 
grimly. 

"Why?     What's  happened?"  she  asked,  quickly. 

"Joan,  have  you  guessed  yet  why  Kells  sent  you 
down  into  camp  alone?" 

"No." 

"Listen.  ...  I  went  with  Kells  and  Smith  and 
Pearce.  They  hurried  straight  to  the  Last  Nugget. 
There  was  a  crowd  of  men  in  front  of  the  place. 
Pearce  walked  straight  up  to  one — a  gambler  by  his 
clothes.  And  he  said  in  a  loud  voice,  'Here's  the 
man !'  .  .  .  The  gambler  looked  startled,  turned  pale, 
and  went  for  his  gun.  But  Kells  shot  him !  .  .  .  He 
fell  dead,  without  a  word.  There  was  a  big  shout, 

231 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

then  silence.  Kells  stood  there  with  his  smoking 
gun.  I  never  saw  the  man  so  cool — so  masterful. 
Then  he  addressed  the  crowd:  'This  gambler  in 
sulted  my  daughter!  My  men  here  saw  him.  My 
name's  Blight.  I  came  here  to  buy  up  gold  claims. 
And  I  want  to  say  this:  Your  Alder  Creek  has  got 
the  gold.  But  it  needs  some  of  your  best  citizens 
to  run  it  right,  so  a  girl  can  be  safe  on  the  street/ 

"Joan,  I  tell  you  it  was  a  magnificent  bluff,"  went 
on  Jim,  excitedly.  "And  it  worked.  Kells  walked 
away  amid  cheers.  He  meant  to  give  an  impression 
of  character  and  importance.  He  succeeded.  So  far 
as  I  could  tell,  there  wasn't  a  man  present  wrho  did 
not  show  admiration  for  him.  I  saw  that  dead 
gambler  kicked." 

"Jim!"  breathed  Joan.  "He  killed  him — just  for 
that!" 

"Just  for  that— the  bloody  devil!" 

"But  still— what  for?  Oh,  it  was  cold-blooded 
murder." 

"No,  an  even  break.  Kells  made  the  gambler  go 
for  his  gun.  I'll  have  to  say  that  for  Kells." 

"It  doesn't  change  the  thing.  I'd  forgotten  what 
a  monster  he  is." 

"Joan,  his  motive  is  plain.  This  new  gold-camp 
has  not  reached  the  blood- spilling  stage  yet.  It 
hadn't,  I  should  say.  The  news  of  this  killing  will 
fly.  It  '11  focus  minds  on  this  claim-buyer,  Blight. 
His  deed  rings  true — like  that  of  an  honest  man  with 
a  daughter  to  protect.  He'll  win  sympathy.  Then 
he  talks  as  if  he  were  prosperous.  Soon  he'll  be 
represented  in  this  changing,  growing  population  as 
a  man  of  importance.  He'll  play  the  card  for  all  he's 

232 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

worth.  Meanwhile,  secretly  he'll  begin  to  rob  the 
miners.  It  '11  be  hard  to  suspect  him.  His  plot  is 
just  like  the  man — great!" 

"Jim,  oughtn't  we  tell?"  whispered  Joan,  trem 
bling. 

"I've  thought  of  that.  Somehow  I  seem  to  feel 
guilty.  But  whom  on  earth  could  we  tell?  We 
wouldn't  dare  speak  here.  .  .  .  Remember — you're  a 
prisoner.  I'm  supposed  to  be  a  bandit — one  of  the 
Border  Legion.  How  to  get  away  from  here  and 
save  our  lives — that's  what  tortures  me." 

"Something  tells  me  we'll  escape,  if  only  we  can 
plan  the  right  way.     Jim,  I'll  have  to  be  penned  here, 
with  nothing  to  do  but  wait.     You  must  come  every , 
night!  .  .  .  Won't  you?" 

For  an  answer  he  kissed  her  again. 

''Jim,  what  '11  you  do  meanwhile?"  she  asked, 
anxiously. 

"I'm  going  to  work  a  claim.  Dig  for  gold.  I 
told  Kells  so  to-day,  and  he  was  delighted.  He  said 
he  was  afraid  his  men  wouldn't  like  the  working  part 
of  his  plan.  It's  hard  to  dig  gold.  Easy  to  steal  it. 
But  I'll  dig  a  hole  as  big  as  a  hill! .  .  .  Wouldn't  it  be 
funny  if  I  struck  it  rich?" 

"Jim,  you're  getting  the  fever." 

"Joan,  if  I  did  happen  to  run  into  a  gold-pocket — 
there  're  lots  of  them  found — would — you — marry 
me?" 

The  tenderness,  the  timidity,  and  the  yearning  in 
Cleve's  voice  told  Joan  as  never  before  how  he  had 
hoped  and  feared  and  despaired.  She  patted  his 
cheek  with  her  hand,  and  in  the  darkness,  with  her 
heart  swelling  to  make  up  for  what  she  had  done  to 

233 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

him,  she  felt  a  boldness  and  a  recklessness,  sweet, 
tumultuous,  irresistible. 

"Jim,  I'll  marry  you — whether  you  strike  gold  or 
not,"  she  whispered. 

And  there  was  another  blind,  sweet  moment. 
Then  Cleve  tore  himself  away,  and  Joan  leaned  at 
the  window,  watching  the  shadow,  with  tears  in  her 
eyes  and  an  ache  in  her  breast. 

From  that  day  Joan  lived  a  life  of  seclusion  in  the 
small  room.  Kells  wanted  it  so,  and  Joan  thought 
best  for  the  time  being  not  to  take  advantage  of  Bate 
Wood's  duplicity.  Her  meals  were  brought  to  her  by 
Wood,  who  was  supposed  to  unlock  and  lock  her  door. 
But  Wood  never  turned  the  key  in  that  padlock. 

Prisoner  though  Joan  was,  the  days  and  nights 
sped  swiftly. 

Kells  was  always  up  till  late  in  the  night  and  slept 
half  of  the  next  morning.  It  was  his  wont  to  see 
Joan  every  day  about  noon.  He  had  a  care  for  his 
appearance.  When  he  came  in  he  was  dark,  for 
bidding,  weary,  and  cold.  Manifestly  he  came  to 
her  to  get  rid  of  the  impondering  burden  of  the 
present.  He  left  it  behind  him.  He  never  spoke  a 
word  of  Alder  Creek,  of  gold,  of  the  Border  Legion. 
Always  he  began  by  inquiring  for  her  welfare,  by 
asking  what  he  could  do  for  her,  what  he  could 
bring  her.  Joan  had  an  abhorrence  of  Kells  in  his 
absence  that  she  never  felt  when  he  was  with  her; 
and  the  reason  must  have  been  that  she  thought 
of  him,  remembered  him  as  the  bandit,  and  saw  him 
as  another  and  growing  character.  Always  mindful 
of  her  influence,  she  was  as  companionable,  as 

234 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

sympathetic,  as  cheerful,  and  sweet  as  it  was  pos 
sible  for  her  to  be.  Slowly  he  would  warm  and 
change  under  her  charm,  and  the  grim  gloom,  the 
dark  strain,  would  pass  from  him.  When  that  left 
he  was  indeed  another  person.  Frankly  he  told 
Joan  that  the  glimpse  of  real  love  she  had  simulated 
back  there  in  Cabin  Gulch  was  seldom  out  of  his 
mind.  No  woman  had  ever  kissed  him  like  she  had. 
That  kiss  had  transfigured  him.  It  haunted  him. 
If  he  could  not  win  kisses  like  that  from  Joan's  lips, 
of  her  own  free  will,  then  he  wanted  none.  No 
other  woman's  lips  would  ever  touch  his.  And  he 
begged  Joan  in  the  terrible  earnestness  of  a  stern  and 
hungering  outcast  for  her  love.  And  Joan  could 
only  sadly  shake  her  head  and  tell  him  she  was  sorry 
for  him,  that  the  more  she  really  believed  he  loved 
her  the  surer  she  was  that  he  would  give  her  up. 
Then  always  he  passionately  refused.  He  must  have 
her  to  keep,  to  look  at  as  his  treasure,  to  dream 
over,  and  hope  against  hope  that  she  would  love  him 
some  day.  Women  sometimes  learned  to  love  their 
captors,  he  said;  and  if  she  only  learned,  then  he 
would  take  her  away  to  Australia,  to  distant  lands. 
But  most  of  all  he  begged  her  to  show  him  again 
what  it  meant  to  be  loved  by  a  good  woman.  And 
Joan,  who  knew  that  her  power  now  lay  in  her  un- 
attainableness,  feigned  a  wavering  reluctance,  when 
in  truth  any  surrender  was  impossible.  He  left  her 
with  a  spirit  that  her  presence  gave  him,  in  a  kind  of 
trance,  radiant,  yet  with  mocking  smile,  as  if  he  fore 
saw  the  overthrow  of  his  soul  through  her,  and  in  the 
light  of  that  his  waning  power  over  his  Legion  was 
as  nothing. 

16  235 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

In  the  afternoon  he  went  down  into  camp  to 
strengthen  the  associations  he  had  made,  to  buy 
claims,  and  to  gamble.  Upon  his  return  Joan,  peep 
ing  through  a  crack  between  the  boards,  could  always 
tell  whether  he  had  been  gambling,  whether  he  had 
won  or  lost. 

Most  of  the  evenings  he  remained  in  his  cabin, 
which  after  dark  became  a  place  of  mysterious  and 
stealthy  action.  The  members  of  his  Legion  visited 
him,  sometimes  alone,  never  more  than  two  together. 
Joan  could  hear  them  slipping  in  at  the  hidden 
aperture  in  the  back  of  the  cabin;  she  could  hear 
the  low  voices,  but  seldom  what  was  said ;  she  could 
hear  these  night  prowlers  as  they  departed.  After 
ward  Kells  would  have  the  lights  lit,  and  then  Joan 
could  see  into  the  cabin.  Was  that  dark,  haggard 
man  Kells?  She  saw  him  take  little  buckskin  sacks 
full  of  gold-dust  and  hide  them  under  the  floor. 
Then  he  would  pace  the  room  in  his  old  familiar 
manner,  like  a  caged  tiger.  Later  his  mood  usually 
changed  with  the  advent  of  Wood  and  Pearce  and 
Smith  and  Cleve,  who  took  turns  at  guard  and  going 
down  into  camp.  Then  Kells  would  join  them  in  a 
friendly  game  for  small  stakes.  Gambler  though  he 
was,  he  refused  to  allow  any  game  there  that  might 
lead  to  heavy  wagering.  From  the  talk  sometimes 
Joan  learned  that  he  played  for  exceedingly  large 
stakes  with  gamblers  and  prosperous  miners,  usually 
with  the  same  result — a  loss.  Sometimes  he  won, 
however,  and  then  he  would  crow  over  Pearce  and 
Smith,  and  delight  in  telling  them  how  cunningly  he 
had  played. 

Jim  Cleve  had  his  bed  up  under  the  bulge  of  bluff., 

236 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

in  a  sheltered  nook.  Kells  had  appeared  to  like  this 
idea,  for  some  reason  relative  to  his  scout  system, 
which  he  did  not  explain.  And  Cleve  was  happy 
about  it  because  this  arrangement  left  him  absolutely 
free  to  have  his  nightly  rendezvous  with  Joan  at  her 
window,  sometime  between  dark  and  midnight.  Her 
bed  was  right  under  the  window :  if  awake  she  could 
rest  on  her  knees  and  look  out ;  and  if  she  was  asleep 
he  could  thrust  a  slender  stick  between  the  boards 
to  awaken  her.  But  the  fact  was  that  Joan  lived 
for  these  stolen  meetings,  and  unless  he  could  not 
come  until  very  late  she  waited  wide-eyed  and  listen 
ing  for  him.  Then,  besides,  as  long  as  Kells  was  stir 
ring  in  the  cabin  she  spent  her  time  spying  upon  him. 

Jim  Cleve  had  gone  to  an  unfrequented  part  of  the 
gulch,  for  no  particular  reason,  and  here  he  had 
located  his  claim.  The  very  first  day  he  struck  gold. 
And  Kells,  more  for  advertisement  than  for  any 
other  motive,  had  his  men  stake  out  a  number  of 
claims  near  Cleve's,  and  bought  them.  Then  they 
had  a  little  field  of  their  own.  All  found  the  rich 
pay-dirt,  but  it  was  Cleve  to  whom  the  goddess  of 
fortune  turned  her  bright  face.  As  he  had  been 
lucky  at  cards,  so  he  was  lucky  at  digging.  His  claim 
paid  big  returns.  Kells  spread  the  news,  and  that 
part  of  the  gulch  saw  a  rush  of  miners. 

Every  night  Joan  had  her  whispered  hour  with 
Cleve,  and  each  succeeding  one  was  the  sweeter. 
Jim  had  become  a  victim  of  the  gold  fever.  But, 
having  Joan  to  steady  him,  he  did  not  lose  his  head. 
If  he  gambled  it  was  to  help  out  with  his  part.  He 
was  generous  to  his  comrades.  He  pretended  to 
drink,  but  did  not  drink  at  all.  Jim  seemed  to  re- 

237 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

gard  his  good  fortune  as  Joan's  also.  He  believed  if 
he  struck  it  rich  he  could  buy  his  sweetheart's  free 
dom.  He  claimed  that  Kells  was  drunk  for  gold  to 
gamble  away.  Joan  let  Jim  talk,  but  she  coaxed 
him  and  persuaded  him  to  follow  a  certain  line  of 
behavior,  she  planned  for  him,  she  thought  for  him, 
she  influenced  him  to  hide  the  greater  part  of  his  gold- 
dust,  and  let  it  be  known  that  he  wore  no  gold-belt. 
She  had  a  growing  fear  that  Jim's  success  was  likely 
to  develop  a  temper  in  him  inimical  to  the  cool, 
waiting,  tolerant  policy  needed  to  outwit  Kells  in  the 
end.  It  seemed  the  more  gold  Jim  acquired  the  more 
passionate  he  became,  the  more  he  importuned  Joan, 
the  more  he  hated  Kells.  Gold  had  gotten  into  his 
blood,  and  it  was  Joan's  task  to  keep  him  sane. 
Naturally  she  gained  more  by  yielding  herself  to 
Jim's  caresses  than  by  any  direct  advice  or  admonish 
ment.  It  was  her  love  that  held  Jim  in  check. 

One  night,  the  instant  their  hands  met  Joan  knew 
that  Jim  was  greatly  excited  or  perturbed. 

1  'Joan,"  he  whispered,  thrillingly,  with  his  lips 
at  her  ear,  "I've  made  myself  solid  with  Kells! 
Oh,  the  luck  of  it!" 

"Tell  me!"  whispered  Joan,  and  she  leaned  against 
those  lips. 

"It  was  early  to-night  at  the  Nugget.  I  dropped 
in  as  usual.  Kells  was  playing  faro  again  with  that 
gambler  they  call  Flash.  He's  won  a  lot  of  Kells's 
gold — a  crooked  gambler.  I  looked  on.  And  some 
of  the  gang  were  there — Pearce,  Blicky,  Handy 
Oliver,  and  of  course  Gulden,  but  all  separated 
Kells  was  losing  and  sore.  But  he  was  game.  All 
at  once  he  caught  Flash  in  a  crooked  trick,  and  he 

238 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

yelled  in  a  rage.  He  sure  had  the  gang  and  every 
body  else  looking.  I  expected — and  so  did  all  the 
gang — to  see  Kells  pull  his  gun.  But  strange  how 
gambling  affects  him!  He  only  cursed  Flash — 
called  him  right.  You  know  that's  about  as  bad  as 
death  to  a  professional  gambler  in  a  place  like 
Alder  Creek.  Flash  threw  a  derringer  on  Kells. 
He  had  it  up  his  sleeve.  He  meant  to  kill  Kells, 
and  Kells  had  no  chance.  But  Flash,  having  the 
drop,  took  time  to  talk,  to  make  his  bluff  go  strong 
with  the  crowd.  And  that's  where  he  made  a  mis 
take.  I  jumped  and  knocked  the  gun  out  of  his 
hand.  It  went  off — burned  my  wrist.  Then  I 
slugged  Mr.  Flash  good — he  didn't  get  up.  .  .  .  Kells 
called  the  crowd  around  and,  showing  the  cards  as 
they  lay,  coolly  proved  that  Flash  was  what  every 
body  suspected.  Then  Kells  said  to  me — I'll  never 
forget  how  he  looked:  'Youngster,  he  meant  to  do 
for  me.  I  never  thought  of  my  gun.  You  see!  .  .  . 
I'll  kill  him  the  next  time  we  meet.  ...  I've  owed  my 
life  to  men  more  than  once.  I  never  forget.  You 
stood  pat  with  me  before.  And  now  you're  ace 
high!'" 

"Was  it  fair  of  you?"  asked  Joan. 

"Yes.  Flash  is  a  crooked  gambler.  I'd  rather  be 
a  bandit.  .  .  .  Besides,  all's  fair  in  love !  And  I.  was 
thinking  of  you  when  I  saved  Kells." 

"Flash  will  be  looking  for  you,"  said  Joan,  fear 
fully. 

'  *  Likely.  And  if  he  finds  me  he  wants  to  be  quick. 
But  Kells  will  drive  him  out  of  camp  or  kill  him.  I 
tell  you,  Kells  is  the  biggest  man  in  Alder  Creek. 
There's  talk  of  office — a  mayor  and  all  that — and  if 

239 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

the  miners  can  forget  gold  long  enough  they'll  elect 
Kells.  But  the  riffraff,  these  blood-suckers  who 
live  off  the  miners,  they'd  rather  not  have  any  office 
in  Alder  Creek." 

And  upon  another  night  Cleve  in  serious  and  som 
ber  mood  talked  about  the  Border  Legion  and  its 
mysterious  workings.  The  name  had  found  prom 
inence,  no  one  knew  how,  and  Alder  Creek  knew  no 
more  peaceful  sleep.  This  Legion  was  supposed  to 
consist  of  a  strange,  secret  band  of  unknown  bandits 
and  road-agents,  drawing  its  members  from  all  that 
wild  and  trackless  region  called  the  border.  Rumor 
gave  it  a  leader  of  cunning  and  ruthless  nature.  It 
operated  all  over  the  country  at  the  same  time,  and 
must  have  been  composed  of  numerous  smaller 
bands,  impossible  to  detect.  Because  its  victims 
never  lived  to  tell  how  or  by  whom  they  had  been 
robbed!  This  Legion  worked  slowly  and  in  the 
dark.  It  did  not  bother  to  rob  for  little  gain.  It 
had  strange  and  unerring  information  of  large  quan 
tities  of  gold-dust.  Two  prospectors  going  out  on 
the  Bannack  road,  packing  fifty  pounds  of  gold, 
were  found  shot  to  pieces.  A  miner  named  Black, 
who  would  not  trust  his  gold  to  the  stage-express, 
and  who  left  Alder  Creek  against  advice,  was  never 
seen  or  heard  of  again.  Four  other  miners  of  the 
camp,  known  to  carry  considerable  gold,  were 
robbed  and  killed  at  night  on  their  way  to  their 
cabins.  And  another  was  found  dead  in  his  bed. 
Robbers  had  crept  to  his  tent,  slashed  the  canvas, 
murdered  him  while  he  slept,  and  made  of!  with  his 
belt  of  gold. 

240 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

An  evil  day  of  blood  had  fallen  upon  Alder  Creek. 
There  were  terrible  and  implacable  men  in  the  midst 
of  the  miners,  by  day  at  honest  toil,  learning  who  had 
gold,  and  murdering  by  night.  The  camp  had  never 
been  united,  but  this  dread  fact  disrupted  any  pos 
sible  unity.  Every  man,  or  every  little  group  of 
men,  distrusted  the  other,  watched  and  spied  and 
lay  awake  at  night.  But  the  robberies  continued, 
one  every  few  days,  and  each  one  left  no  trace.  For 
dead  men  could  not  talk. 

Thus  was  ushered  in  at  Alder  Creek  a  regime  of 
wildness  that  had  no  parallel  in  the  earlier  days  of 
'49  and  '51.  Men  frenzied  by  the  possession  of  gold 
or  greed  for  it  responded  to  the  wildness  of  that  time 
and  took  their  cue  from  this  deadly  and  mysterious 
Border  Legion.  The  gold-lust  created  its  own  blood- 
lust.  Daily  the  population  of  Alder  Creek  grew  in 
the  new  gold-seekers  and  its  dark  records  kept  pace. 
With  distrust  came  suspicion  and  with  suspicion  came 
fear,  and  with  fear  came  hate — and  these,  in  already 
distorted  minds,  inflamed  a  hell.  So  that  the  most 
primitive  passions  of  mankind  found  outlet  and  held 
sway.  The  operations  of  the  Border  Legion  were 
lost  in  deeds  done  in  the  gambling-dens,  in  the 
saloons,  and  on  the  street,  in  broad  day.  Men 
fought  for  no  other  reason  than  that  the  incentive 
was  in  the  charged  air.  Men  were  shot  at  gaming 
tables — and  the  game  went  on.  Men  were  killed 
in  the  dance-halls,  dragged  out,  marking  a  line  of 
blood  on  the  rude  floor — and  the  dance  went  on. 
Still  the  pursuit  of  gold  went  on,  more  frenzied  than 
ever,  and  still  the  greater  and  richer  claims  were 
struck.  The  price  of  gold  soared  and  the  commod- 

241 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

ities  of  life  were  almost  beyond  the  dreams  of  avarice. 
It  was  a  time  in  which  the  worst  of  men's  natures 
stalked  forth,  hydra-headed  and  deaf,  roaring  for 
gold,  spitting  fire,  and  shedding  blood.  It  was  a 
time  when  gold  and  fire  and  blood  were  one.  It  was 
a  time  when  a  horde  of  men  from  every  class  and 
nation,  of  all  ages  and  characters,  met  on  a  field 
where  motives  and  ambitions  and  faiths  and  traits 
merged  into  one  mad  instinct  of  gain.  It  was  worse 
than  the  time  of  the  medieval  crimes  of  religion; 
it  made  war  seem  a  brave  and  honorable  thing;  it 
robbed  manhood  of  that  splendid  and  noble  trait, 
always  seen  in  shipwrecked  men  or  those  hope 
lessly  lost  in  the  barren  north,  the  divine  will  not 
to  retrograde  to  the  savage.  It  was  a  time,  for  all 
it  enriched  the  world  with  yellow  treasure,  when 
might  was  right,  when  men  were  hopeless,  when 
death  stalked  rampant.  The  sun  rose  gold  and  it 
set  red.  It  was  the  hour  of  Gold ! 

One  afternoon  late,  while  Joan  was  half  dreaming, 
half  dozing  the  hours  away,  she  was  thoroughly 
aroused  by  the  tramp  of  boots  and  loud  voices  of  ex 
cited  men.  Joan  slipped  to  the  peephole  in  the  parti 
tion  .  B  ate  Wood  had  raised  a  warning  hand  to  Kells, 
who  stood  up,  facing  the  door.  Red  Pearce  came 
bursting  in,  wild-eyed  and  violent.  Joan  imagined 
he  was  about  to  cry  out  that  Kells  had  been  betrayed. 

''Kells,  have  you — heard?"  he  panted. 

"Not  so  loud,  you — !"  replied  Kells,  coolly. 
"My  name's  Blight.  .  .  .  Who's  with  you?" 

"Only  Jesse  an'  some  of  the  gang.  I  couldn't 
steer  them  away.  But  there's  nothin'  to  fear." 

242 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

''What's  happened?     What  haven't  I  heard?" 

"The  camp's  gone  plumb  ravin'  crazy.  .  .  .  Jim 
Cleve  found  the  biggest  nugget  ever  dug  in  Idaho! 
.  .  .  Thirty  pounds!" 

Kells  seemed  suddenly  to  inflame,  to  blaze  with 
white  passion.  ' '  Good  for  Jim !"  he  yelled,  ringingly . 
He  could  scarcely  have  been  more  elated  if  he  had 
made  the  strike  himself. 

Jesse  Smith  came  stamping  in,  with  a  crowd  elbow 
ing  their  way  behind  him.  Joan  had  a  start  of  the 
old  panic  at  sight  of  Gulden.  For  once  the  giant 
was  not  slow  nor  indifferent.  His  big  eyes  glared. 
He  brought  back  to  Joan  the  sickening  sense  of  the 
brute  strength  of  his  massive  presence.  Some  of  his 
cronies  were  with  him.  For  the  rest,  there  were 
Blicky  and  Handy  Oliver  and  Chick  Williams. 
The  whole  group  bore  resemblance  to  a  pack  of 
wolves  about  to  leap  upon  its  prey.  Yet,  in  each 
man,  excepting  Gulden,  there  was  that  striking  as 
pect  of  exultation. 

"Where's  Jim?"  demanded  Kells. 

"He's  comin'  along,"  replied  Pearce.  "He's  sure 
been  runnin'  a  gantlet.  His  strike  stopped  work  in 
the  diggin's.  What  do  you  think  of  thet,  Kells? 
The  news  spread  like  smoke  before  wind.  Every  last 
miner  in  camp  has  jest  got  to  see  thet  lump  of  gold." 

"Maybe  I  don't  want  to  see  it!"  exclaimed  Kells. 
"A  thirty-pounder!  I  heard  of  one  once,  sixty 
pounds,  but  I  never  saw  it.  You  can't  believe  till 
you  see." 

"Jim's  comin'  up  the  road  now,"  said  one  of  the 
men  near  the  door.  "Thet  crowd  hangs  on.  .  .  . 
But  I  reckon  he's  shakin'  them." 

243 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

"What  '11  Cleve  do  with  this  nugget?" 

Gulden's  big  voice,  so  powerful,  yet  feelingless, 
caused  a  momentary  silence.  The  expression  of 
many  faces  changed.  Kells  looked  startled,  then 
annoyed. 

"Why,  Gulden,  that's  not  my  affair — nor  yours," 
replied  Kells.  "Cleve  dug  it  and  it  belongs  to  him." 

"Dug  or  stole — it's  all  the  same,"  responded 
Gulden. 

Kells  threw  up  his  hands  as  if  it  were  useless  and 
impossible  to  reason  with  this  man. 

Then  the  crowd  surged  round  the  door  with 
shuffling  boots  and  hoarse,  mingled  greetings  to 
Cleve,  who  presently  came  plunging  in  out  of  the 
m£lee. 

His  face  wore  a  flush  of  radiance;  his  eyes  were 
like  diamonds.  Joan  thrilled  and  thrilled  at  sight 
of  him.  He  was  beautiful.  Yet  there  was  about 
him  a  more  striking  wildness.  He  carried  a  gun  in 
one  hand  and  in  the  other  an  object  wrapped  in  his 
scarf.  He  flung  this  upon  the  table  in  front  of 
Kells.  It  made  a  heavy,  solid  thump.  The  ends 
of  the  scarf  flew  aside,  and  there  lay  a  magnificent 
nugget  of  gold,  black  and  rusty  in  parts,  but  with  a 
dull,  yellow  glitter  in  others. 

"Boss,  what  '11  you  bet  against  that?"  cried  Cleve, 
with  exulting  laugh.  He  was  like  a  boy. 

Kells  reached  for  the  nugget  as  if  it  were  not  an 
actual  object,  and  when  his  hands  closed  on  it  he 
fondled  it  and  weighed  it  and  dug  his  nails  into  it 
and  tasted  it. 

"My  God!"  he  ejaculated,  in  wondering  ecstasy. 
Then  this,  and  the  excitement,  and  the  obsession  all 

244 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

changed  into  sincere  gladness.  "Jim,  you're  born 
lucky.  You,  the  youngster  born  unlucky  in  love! 
Why,  you  could  buy  any  woman  with  this!" 

"Could  I?  Find  me  one,"  responded  Cleve,  with 
swift  boldness. 

Kells  laughed.  "I  don't  know  any  worth  so 
much." 

"What  '11 1  do  with  it?"  queried  Cleve. 

"Why,  you  fool  youngster!  Has  it  turned  your 
head,  too?  What  'd  you  do  with  the  rest  of  your 
dust?  You've  certainly  been  striking  it  rich." 

1 '  I  spent  it — lost  it — lent  it — gave  some  away  and 
— saved  a  little." 

"Probably  you'll  do  the  same  with  this.  You're 
a  good  fellow,  Jim." 

'  *  But  this  nugget  means  a  lot  of  money.  Between 
six  and  seven  thousand  dollars." 

"You  won't  need  advice  how  to  spend  it,  even  if  it 
was  a  million.  .  .  .  Tell  me,  Jim,  how'd  you  strike 
it?" 

'  *  Funny  about  that, ' '  replied  Cleve.  ' '  Things  were 
poor  for  several  days.  Dug  off  branches  into  my 
claim.  One  grew  to  be  a  deep  hole  in  gravel,  hard 
to  dig.  My  claim  was  once  the  bed  of  a  stream, 
full  of  rocks  that  the  water  had  rolled  down  once. 
This  hole  sort  of  haunted  me.  I'd  leave  it  when 
my  back  got  so  sore  I  couldn't  bend,  but  always 
I'd  return.  I'd  say  there  wasn't  a  darned  grain  of 
gold  in  that  gravel;  then  like  a  fool  I'd  go  back  and 
dig  for  all  I  was  worth.  No  chance  of  finding  blue 
dirt  down  there !  But  I  kept  on.  And  to-day  when 
my  pick  hit  what  felt  like  a  soft  rock — I  looked  and 
saw  the  gleam  of  gold!  .  .  .  You  ought  to  have  seen 

245 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

me  claw  out  that  nugget!  I  whooped  and  brought 
everybody  around.  The  rest  was  a  parade.  .  .  . 
Now  I'm  embarrassed  by  riches.  What  to  do  with 
it?" 

"Wai,  go  back  to  Montana  an'  make  thet  fool  girl 
sick,"  suggested  one  of  the  men  who  had  heard 
Jim's  fictitious  story  of  himself. 

"Dug  or  stole  is  all  the  same!"  boomed  the  im 
perturbable  Gulden. 

Kells  turned  white  with  rage,  and  Cleve  swept 
a  swift  and  shrewd  glance  at  the  giant. 

"Sure,  that's  my  idea,"  declared  Cleve.  'TH 
divide  as — as  we  planned." 

"You'll  do  nothing  of  the  kind,"  retorted  Kells. 
"You  dug  for  that  gold  and  it's  yours." 

"Well,  boss,  then  say  a  quarter  share  to  you  and 
the  same  to  me — and  divide  the  rest  among  the 
gang." 

"No!"  exclaimed  Kells,  violently. 

Joan  imagined  he  was  actuated  as  much  by  justice 
to  Cleve  as  opposition  to  Gulden. 

"Jim,  Cleve,  you're  a  square  pard  if  I  ever  seen 
one,"  declared  Pearce,  admiringly.  "An'  I'm  here 
to  say  thet  I  wouldn't  hev  a  share  of  your  nugget." 

"Nor  me,"  spoke  up  Jesse  Smith. 

"I  pass,  too,"  said  Chick  Williams. 

"Jim,  if  I  was  dyin'  fer  a  drink  I  wouldn't  stand 
fer  thet  deal,"  added  Blicky,  with  a  fine  scorn. 

These  men,  and  others  who  spoke  or  signified  their 
refusal,  attested  to  the  living  truth  that  there  was 
honor  even  among  robbers.  But  there  was  not  the 
slightest  suggestion  of  change  in  Gulden's  attitude  or 
of  those  back  of  him. 

246 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

"Share  and  share  alike  for  me!"  he  muttered, 
grimly,  with  those  great  eyes  upon  the  nugget. 

Kells,  with  an  agile  bound,  reached  the  table  and 
pounded  it  with  his  fist,  confronting  the  giant. 

1 '  So  you  say !"  he  hissed  in  dark  passion.  ' '  You've 
gone  too  far,  Gulden.  Here's  where  I  call  you !  .  .  . 
You  don't  get  a  grain  of  that  gold  nugget.  Jim's 
worked  like  a  dog.  If  he  'digs  up  a  million  I'll  see 
he  gets  it  all.  Maybe  you  loafers  haven't  a  hunch 
what  Jim's  done  for  you.  He's  helped  our  big  deal 
more  than  you  or  I.  His  honest  work  has  made  it 
easy  for  me  to  look  honest.  He's  supposed  to  be 
engaged  to  marry  my  daughter.  That  more  than 
anything  was  a  blind.  It  made  my  stand,  and  I 
tell  you  that  stand  is  high  in  this  camp.  Go  down 
there  and  swear  Blight  is  Jack  Kells !  See  what  you 
get!  .  .  .  That's  all.  ...  I'm  dealing  the  cards  in  this 
game!" 

Kells  did  not  cow  Gulden — for  it  was  likely  the 
giant  lacked  the  feeling  of  fear — but  he  overruled 
him  by  sheer  strength  of  spirit. 

Gulden  backed  away  stolidly,  apparently  dazed 
by  his  own  movements;  then  he  plunged  out  the 
door,  and  the  ruffians  who  had  given  silent  but  sure 
expression  of  their  loyalty  tramped  after  him. 

''Reckon  thet  starts  the  split!"  declared  Red 
Pearce. 

"Suppose  you'd  been  in  Jim's  place!"  flashed 
Kells. 

"Jack,  I  ain't  sayin'  a  word.  You  was  square. 
I'd  want  you  to  do  the  same  by  me.  .  .  .  But  fetchin' 
the  girl  into  the  deal — " 

Kells's  passionate  and  menacing  gesture  shut 
247 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

Pearce's  lips.  He  lifted  a  hand,  resignedly,  and  went 
out. 

"Jim,"  said  Kells,  earnestly,  "take  my  hunch. 
Hide  your  nugget.  Don't  send  it  out  with  the  stage 
to  Bannack.  It  'd  never  get  there.  .  .  .  And  change 
the  place  where  you  sleep!" 

' ' Thanks, ' '  replied  Cleve,  brightly.  'Til  hide  my 
nugget  all  right.  And  I'll  take  care  of  myself." 

Later  that  night  Joan  waited  at  her  window  for 
Jim.  It  was  so  quiet  that  she  could  hear  the  faint 
murmur  of  the  shallow  creek.  The  sky  was  dusky 
blue;  the  stars  were  white,  the  night  breeze  sweet 
and  cool.  Her  first  flush  of  elation  for  Jim  having 
passed,  she  experienced  a  sinking  of  courage.  Were 
they  not  in  peril  enough  without  Jim  finding  a 
fortune  ?  How  dark  and  significant  had  been  Kells's 
hint!  There  was  something  splendid  in  this  bandit. 
Never  had  Joan  felt  so  grateful  to  him.  He  was  a 
villain,  yet  he  was  a  man.  What  hatred  he  showed 
for  Gulden!  These  rivals  would  surely  meet  in  a 
terrible  conflict — for  power — for  gold.  And  for  her ! 
— she  added,  involuntarily,  with  deep,  inward  shud 
der.  Once  the  thought  had  flashed  through  her 
mind,  it  seemed  Like  a  word  of  revelation. 

Then  she  started  as  a  dark  form  rose  out  of  the 
shadow  under  her  and  a  hand  clasped  hers.  Jim! 
and  she  lifted  her  face. 

"Joan!   Joan!    I'm  rich!  rich!  "he  babbled,  wildly. 

"Ssssh!"  whispered  Joan,  softly,  in  his  ear.     "Be 

careful.     You're  wild  to-night.  ...  I  saw  you  come 

in  with  the  nugget.     I  heard  you.  .  .  .  Oh,  you  lucky 

Jim !     Til  tell  you  what  to  do  with  it !" 

248 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

"Darling!  It's  all  yours.  You'll  marry  me 
now?" 

"Sir!  Do  you  take  me  for  a  fortune-hunter?  I 
marry  you  for  your  gold  ?  Never ! ' ' 

"Joan!" 

"I've  promised,"  she  said. 

"I  won't  go  away  now.  I'll  work  my  claim,"  he 
began,  excitedly.  And  he  went  on  so  rapidly  that 
Joan  could  not  keep  track  of  his  words.  He  was  not 
so  cautious  as  formerly.  She  remonstrated  with 
him,  all  to  no  purpose.  Not  only  was  he  carried 
away  by  possession  of  gold  and  assurance  of  more, 
but  he  had  become  masterful,  obstinate,  and  illog 
ical.  He  was  indeed  hopeless  to-night — the  gold, 
had  gotten  into  his  blood.  Joan  grew  afraid  he 
would  betray  their  secret  and  realized  there  had 
come  still  greater  need  for  a  woman's  wit.  So  she 
resorted  to  a  never-failing  means  of  silencing  him,  of 
controlling  him — her  lips  on  his. 


CHAPTER  XV 

FOR  several  nights  these  stolen  interviews  were 
apparently  the  safer  because  of  Joan's  tender 
blinding  of  her  lover.  But  it  seemed  that  in  Jim's 
condition  of  mind  this  yielding  of  her  lips  and  her 
whispers  of  love  had  really  been  a  mistake.  Not 
only  had  she  made  the  situation  perilously  sweet 
for  herself,  but  in  Jim's  case  she  had  added  the  spark 
to  the  powder.  She  realized  her  blunder  when  it 
was  too  late.  And  the  fact  that  she  did  not  regret 
it  very  much,  and  seemed  to  have  lost  herself  in  a 
defiant,  reckless  spell,  warned  her  again  that  she, 
too,  was  answering  to  the  wildness  of  the  time  and 
place.  Joan's  intelligence  had  broadened  wonder 
fully  in  this  period  of  her  life,  just  as  all  her  feelings 
had  quickened.  If  gold  had  developed  and  inten 
sified  and  liberated  the  worst  passions  of  men,  so  the 
spirit  of  that  atmosphere  had  its  baneful  effect  upon 
her.  Joan  deplored  this,  yet  she  had  the  keenness  to 
understand  that  it  was  nature  fitting  her  to  survive. 
Back  upon  her  fell  that  weight  of  suspense — what 
would  happen  next  ?  Here  in  Alder  Creek  there  did 
not  at  present  appear  to  be  the  same  peril  which  had 
menaced  her  before,  but  she  would  suffer  through 
fatality  to  Cleve  or  Kells.  And  these  two  slept  at 
night  under  a  shadow  that  held  death,  and  by  day 
they  walked  on  a  thin  crust  over  a  volcano.  Joan 

250 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

grew  more  and  more  fearful  of  the  disclosures  made 
when  Kells  met  his  men  nightly  in  the  cabin.  She 
feared  to  hear,  but  she  must  hear,  and  even  if  she 
had  not  felt  it  necessary  to  keep  informed  of  events, 
the  fascination  of  the  game  would  have  impelled 
her  to  listen.  And  gradually  the  suspense  she  suf 
fered  augmented  into  a  magnified,  though  vague, 
assurance  of  catastrophe,  of  impending  doom.  She 
could  not  shake  off  the  gloomy  presentiment.  Some 
thing  terrible  was  going  to  happen.  An  experience 
begun  as  tragically  as  hers  could  only  end  in  a  final 
and  annihilating  stroke.  Yet  hope  was  unquench 
able,  and  with  her  fear  kept  pace  a  driving  and  re 
lentless  spirit. 

One  night  at  the  end  of  a  week  of  these  interviews, 
when  Joan  attempted  to  resist  Jim,  to  plead  with 
him,  lest  in  his  growing  boldness  he  betray  them,  she 
found  him  a  madman. 

"I'll  pull  you  right  out  of  this  window,"  he  said, 
roughly,  and  then  with  his  hot  face  pressed  against 
hers  tried  to  accomplish  the  thing  he  threatened. 

"Go  on — pull  me  to  pieces!"  replied  Joan,  in 
despair  and  pain.  "I'd  be  better  off  dead!  And — 
you — hurt  me — so!" 

"Hurt  you!"  he  whispered,  hoarsely,  as  if  he  had 
never  dreamed  of  such  possibility.  And  then  sud 
denly  he  was  remorseful.  He  begged  her  to  forgive 
him.  His  voice  was  broken,  husky,  pleading.  His 
remorse,  like  every  feeling  of  his  these  days,  was 
exaggerated,  wild,  with  that  raw  tinge  of  gold-blood 
in  it.  He  made  so  much  noise  that  Joan,  more 
fearful  than  ever  of  discovery,  quieted  him  with 
difficulty. 

17  2SI 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

"Does  Kells  see  you  often — these  days?"  asked 
Jim,  suddenly. 

Joan  had  dreaded  this  question,  which  she  had 
known  would  inevitably  come.  She  wanted  to  lie; 
she  knew  she  ought  to  lie;  but  it  was  impossible. 

"Every  day,"  she  whispered.  "Please — Jim — 
never  mind  that.  Kells  is  good — he's  all  right  to 
me.  ...  And  you  and  I  have  so  little  time  to 
gether." 

"Good!"  exclaimed  Cleve.  Joan  felt  the  leap  of 
his  body  under  her  touch.  "Why,  if  I'd  tell  you 
what  he  sends  that  gang  to  do — you'd — you'd  kill 
him  in  his  sleep." 

"Tell  me,"  replied  Joan.  She  had  a  morbid, 
irresistible  desire  to  learn. 

"No.  .  .  .  And  what  does  Kells  do — when  he 
sees  you  every  day?" 

"He  talks." 

"What  about?" 

"Oh,  everything  except  about  what  holds  him 
here.  He  talks  to  me  to  forget  himself." 

"Does  he  make  love  to  you?" 

Joan  maintained  silence.  What  could  she  do 
with  this  changed  and  hopeless  Jim  Cleve? 

"Tell  me!"  Jim's  hands  gripped  her  with  a  force 
that  made  her  wince.  And  now  she  grew  as  afraid 
of  him  as  she  had  been  for  him.  But  she  had 
spirit  enough  to  grow  angry,  also. 

"Certainly  he  does." 

Jim  Cleve  echoed  her  first  word,  and  then  through 
grinding  teeth  he  cursed.  "I'm  going  to — stop  it!" 
he  panted,  and  his  eyes  looked  big  and  dark  and  wild 
in  the  starlight. 

252 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

"You  can't.  I  belong  to  Kells.  You  at  least 
ought  to  have  sense  enough  to  see  that." 

"Belong  to  him!  .  .  .  For  God's  sake!  By  what 
right?" 

"By  the  right  of  possession.  Might  is  right  here 
on  the  border.  Haven't  you-  told  me  that  a  hundred 
times?  Don't  you  hold  your  claim — your  gold — by 
the  right  of  your  strength?  It's  the  law  of  this  bor 
der.  To  be  sure  Kells  stole  me.  But  just  now  I 
belong  to  him.  And  lately  I  see  his  consideration — 
his  kindness  in  the  light  of  what  he  could  do  if  he 
held  to  that  border  law.  .  .  .  And  of  all  the  men  I've 
met  out  here  Kells  is  the  least  wild  with  this  gold 
fever.  He  sends  his  men  out  to  do  murder  for  gold; 
he'd  sell  his  soul  to  gamble  for  gold;  but  just  the 
same,  he's  more  of  a  man  than— 

"Joan!"  he  interrupted,  piercingly.  "You  love 
this  bandit!" 

"You're  a  fool!"  burst  out  Joan. 

"I  guess — I — am,"  he  replied  in  terrible,  slow 
earnestness.  He  raised  himself  and  appeared  to 
loom  over  her  and  released  his  hold. 

But  Joan  fearfully  retained  her  clasp  on  his  arm, 
and  when  he  surged  to  get  away  she  was  hard  put 
to  it  to  hold  him. 

"Jim!     Where  are  you  going?" 

He  stood  there  a  moment,  a  dark  form  against 
the  night  shadow,  like  an  outline  of  a  man  cut  from 
black  stone. 

"I'll  just  step  around — there." 

"Oh,  what  for?"  whispered  Joan. 

"I'm  going  to  kill  Kells." 

Joan  got  both  arms  round  his  neck  and  with  her 
253 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

head  against  him  she  held  him  tightly,  trying, 
praying  to  think  how  to  meet  this  long-dreaded 
moment.  After  all,  what  was  the  use  to  try?  This 
was  the  hour  of  Gold!  Sacrifice,  hope,  courage, 
nobility,  fidelity — these  had  no  place  here  now. 
Men  were  the  embodiment  of  passion — ferocity. 
They  breathed  only  possession,  and  the  thing  in  the 
balance  was  death.  Women  were  creatures  to  hun 
ger  and  fight  for,  but  womanhood  was  nothing. 
Joan  knew  all  this  with  a  desperate  hardening  cer 
tainty,  and  almost  she  gave  in.  Strangely,  thought 
of  Gulden  flashed  up  to  make  her  again  strong! 
Then  she  raised  her  face  and  began  the  old  pleading 
with  Jim,  but  different  this  time,  when  it  seemed  that 
absolutely  all  was  at  stake.  She  begged  him,  she 
importuned  him,  to  listen  to  reason,  to  be  guided  by 
her,  to  fight  the  wildness  that  had  obsessed  him,  to 
make  sure  that  she  would  not  be  left  alone.  All  in 
vain!  He  swore  he  would  kill  Kells  and  any  other 
bandit  who  stood  in  the  way  of  his  leading  her  free 
out  of  that  cabin.  He  was  wild  to  fight.  He 
might  never  have  felt  fear  of  these  robbers.  He 
would  not  listen  to  any  possibility  of  defeat  for  him 
self,  of  the  possibility  that  in  the  event  of  Kells's 
death  she  would  be  worse  off.  He  laughed  at  her 
strange,  morbid  fears  of  Gulden.  He  was  im 
movable. 

"Jim!  .  .  .  Jim!  You'll  break  my  heart!"  she 
whispered,  wailingly.  "Oh!  what  can  I  do?" 

Then  Joan  released  her  clasp  and  gave  up  to  utter 
defeat.  Cleve  was  silent.  He  did  not  seem  to  hear 
the  shuddering  little  sobs  that  shook  her.  Suddenly 
he  bent  close  to  her. 

254 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

"There's  one  thing  you  can  do.  If  you'll  do  it  I 
won't  kill  Kells.  I'll  obey  your  every  word." 

"What  is  it?     Tell  me!"" 

1 '  Marry  me !"  he  whispered,  and  his  voice  trembled. 

"Marry  your'  exclaimed  Joan.  She  was  con 
founded.  She  began  to  fear  Jim  was  out  of  his  head. 

"I  mean  it.  Marry  me.  Oh,  Joan,  will  you — 
will  you  ?  It  '11  make  the  difference.  That  '11  steady 
me.  Don't  you  want  to?" 

"Jim,  I'd  be  the  happiest  girl  in  the  world  if — if 
I  only  could  marry  you!"  she  breathed,  passionately. 

' '  But  will  you — will  you  ?     Say  yes !     Say  yes !" 

11  Yes!"  replied  Joan  in  her  desperation.  "I  hope 
that  pleases  you.  But  what  on  earth  is  the  use  to 
talk  about  it  now?" 

Cleve  seemed  to  expand,  to  grow  taller,  to  thrill 
under  her  nervous  hands.  And  then  he  kissed  her 
differently.  She  sensed  a  shyness,  a  happiness,  a 
something  hitherto  foreign  to  his  attitude.  It  was 
spiritual,  and  somehow  she  received  an  uplift  of  hope. 

"Listen,"  he  whispered.  "There's  a  preacher 
down  in  camp.  I've  seen  him — talked  with  him. 
He's  trying  to  do  good  in  that  hell  down  there.  I 
know  I  can  trust  him.  I'll  confide  in  him — enough. 
I'll  fetch  him  up  here  to-morrow  night — about  this 
time.  Oh,  I'll  be  careful — very  careful.  And  he  can 
marry  us  right  here  by  the  window.  Joan,  will  you 
do  it  ? ...  Somehow,  whatever  threatens  you  or  me — 
that  '11  be  my  salvation!  .  .  .  I've  suffered  so.  It's 
been  burned  in  my  heart  that  you  would  never  marry 
me.  Yet  you  say  you  love  me !  .  .  .  Prove  it !  ...  My 
wife!  .  .  .  Now,  girl,  a  word  will  make  a  man  of  me!" 
"Yes!"  And  with  the  word  she  put  her  lips  to 
255 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

his  with  all  her  heart  in  them.     She  felt  him  tremble. 
Yet  almost  instantly  he  put  her  from  him. 

"Look  for  me  to-morrow  about  this  time,"  he 
whispered.  "Keep  your  nerve.  .  .  .  Good  night." 

That  t.ight  Joan  dreamed  strange,  weird,  unre- 
membered  dreams.  The  next  day  passed  like  a  slow, 
unreal  age.  She  ate  little  of  what  was  brought  to 
her.  For  the  first  time  she  denied  Kells  admittance 
and  she  only  vaguely  sensed  his  solicitations.  She 
had  no  ear  for  the  murmur  of  voices  in  Kells 's  room. 
Even  the  loud  and  angry  notes  of  a  quarrel  between 
Kells  and  his  men  did  not  distract  her. 

At  sunset  she  leaned  out  of  the  little  window,  and 
only  then,  with  the  gold  fading  on  the  peaks  and  the 
shadow  gathering  under  the  bluff,  did  she  awaken 
to  reality.  A  broken  mass  of  white  cloud  caught 
the  glory  of  the  sinking  sun.  She  had  never  seen  a 
golden  radiance  like  that.  It  faded  and  dulled. 
But  a  warm  glow  remained.  At  twilight  and  then  at 
dusk  this  glow  lingered. 

Then  night  fell.  Joan  was  exceedingly  sensitive 
to  the  sensations  of  light  and  shadow,  of  sound  and 
silence,  of  dread  and  hope,  of  sadness  and  joy. 

That  pale,  ruddy  glow  lingered  over  the  bold 
heave  of  the  range  in  the  west.  It  was  like  a  fire 
that  would  not  go  out,  that  would  live  to-morrow,  and 
burn  golden.  The  sky  shone  with  deep,  rich  blue 
color  fired  with  a  thousand  stars,  radiant,  speaking, 
hopeful.  And  there  was  a  white  track  across  the 
heavens.  The  mountains  flung  down  their  shadows, 
impenetrable,  like  the  gloomy  minds  of  men;  and 
everywhere  under  the  bluffs  and  slopes,  in  the  hol- 

256 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

lows  and  ravines,  lay  an  enveloping  blackness,  hiding 
its  depth  and  secret  and  mystery. 

Joan  listened.  Was  there  sound  or  silence?  A 
faint  and  indescribably  low  roar,  so  low  that  it 
might  have  been  real  or  false,  came  on  the  soft  night 
breeze.  It  was  the  roar  of  the  camp  down  there— 
the  strife,  the  agony,  the  wild  life  in  ceaseless  action — 
the  strange  voice  of  gold,  roaring  greed  and  battle 
and  death  over  the  souls  of  men.  But  above  that, 
presently,  rose  the  murmur  of  the  creek,  a  hushed 
and  dreamy  flow  of  water  over  stones.  It  was 
hurrying  to  get  by  this  horde  of  wild  men,  for  it 
must  bear  the  taint  of  gold  and  blood.  Would  it 
purge  itself  and  clarify  in  the  valleys  below,  on  its 
way  to  the  sea?  There  was  in  its  murmur  an  im 
perishable  and  deathless  note  of  nature,  of  time; 
and  this  was  only  a  fleeting  day  of  men  and  gold. 

Only  by  straining  her  ears  could  Joan  hear  these 
sounds,  and  when  she  ceased  that,  then  she  seemed 
to  be  weighed  upon  and  claimed  by  silence.  It  was 
not  a  silence  like  that  of  Lost  Canon,  but  a  silence 
of  solitude  where  her  soul  stood  alone.  She  was 
there  on  earth,  yet  no  one  could  hear  her  mortal 
cry.  The  thunder  of  avalanches  or  the  boom  of  the 
sea  might  have  lessened  her  sense  of  utter  loneliness. 

And  that  silence  fitted  the  darkness,  and  both  were 
apostles  of  dread.  They  spoke  to  her.  She  breathed 
dread  on  that  silent  air  and  it  filled  her  breast. 
There  was  nothing  stable  in  the  night  shadows. 
The  ravine  seemed  to  send  forth  stealthy,  noiseless 
shapes,  specter  and  human,  man  and  phantom,  each 
on  the  other's  trail. 

If  Jim  would  only  come  and  let  her  see  that  he  was 
257 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

safe  for  the  hour!  A  hundred  times  she  imagined 
she  saw  him  looming  darker  than  the  shadows.  She 
had  only  to  see  him  now,  to  feel  his  hand,  and  dread 
might  be  lost.  Love  was  something  beyond  the 
grasp  of  mind.  Love  had  confounded  Jim  Cleve; 
it  had  brought  up  kindness  and  honor  from  the 
black  depths  of  a  bandit's  heart;  it  had  transformed 
her  from  a  girl  into  a  woman.  Surely  with  all  its 
greatness  it  could  not  be  lost;  surely  in  the  end  it 
must  triumph  over  evil. 

Joan  found  that  hope  was  fluctuating,  but  eternal. 
It  took  no  stock  of  intelligence.  It  was  a  matter  of 
feeling.  And  when  she  gave  rein  to  it  for  a  moment, 
suddenly  it  plunged  her  into  sadness.  To  hope  was 
to  think!  Poor  Jim!  It  was  his  fool's  paradise. 
Just  to  let  her  be  his  wife!  That  was  the  shibboleth 
of  his  dream.  Joan  divined  that  he  might  yield  to 
her  wisdom,  he  might  become  a  man,  but  his  agony 
would  be  greater.  Still,  he  had  been  so  intense,  so 
strange,  so  different  that  she  could  not  but  feel  joy 
in  his  joy. 

Then  at  a  soft  footfall,  a  rustle,  and  a  moving 
shadow  Joan's  mingled  emotions  merged  into  a 
poignant  sense  of  the  pain  and  suspense  and  tender 
ness  of  the  actual  moment. 

"Joan — Joan,"  came  the  soft  whisper. 

She  answered,  and  there  was  a  catch  in  her  breath. 

The  moving  shadow  split  into  two  shadows  that 
stole  closer,  loomed  before  her.  She  could  not  tell 
which  belonged  to  Jim  till  he  touched  her.  His 
touch  was  potent.  It  seemed  to  electrify  her. 

"Dearest,  we're  here — this  is  the  parson,"  said 
Jim,  like  a  happy  boy.  "I — " 

258 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

"'Ssssh!"  whispered  Joan.  "Not  so  loud.  .  .  . 
Listen!" 

Kells  was  holding  a  rendezvous  with  members  of 
his  Legion.  Joan  even  recognized  his  hard  and  som 
ber  tone,  and  the  sharp  voice  of  Red  Pearce,  and  the 
drawl  of  Handy  Oliver. 

"All  right.  I'll  be  quiet,"  responded  Cleve,  cau 
tiously.  "Joan,  you're  to  answer  a  few  questions." 

Then  a  soft  hand  touched  Joan,  and  a  voice  dif 
ferently  keyed  from  any  she  had  heard  On  the  border 
addressed  her. 

"What  is  your  name?"  asked  the  preacher. 

Joan  told  him. 

"Can  you  tell  anything  about  3^ourself?  This 
young  man  is — is  almost  violent.  I'm  not  sure. 
Still  I  want  to—" 

"I  can't  tell  much,"  replied  Joan,  hurriedly. 
"I'm  an  honest  girl.  I'm  free  to — to  marry  him. 
I — I  love  him ! .  .  .  Oh,  I  want  to  help  him.  We — we 
are  in  trouble  here.  I  daren't  say  how." 

"Are  you  over  eighteen?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Do  your  parents  object  to  this  young  man?" 

"I  have  no  parents.  And  my  uncle,  with  whom 
I  lived  before  I  was  brought  to  this  awful  place, 
he  loves  Jim.  He  always  wanted  me  to  marry 
him." 

"Take  his  hand,  then." 

Joan  felt  the  strong  clasp  of  Jim's  fingers,  and 
that  was  all  which  seemed  real  at  the  moment.  It 
seemed  so  dark  and  shadowy  round  these  two  black 
forms  in  front  of  her  window.  She  heard  a  mournful 
wail  of  a  lone  wolf  and  it  intensified  the  weird  dream 

259 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

that  bound  her.  She  heard  her  shaking,  whispered 
voice  repeating  the  preacher's  words.  She  caught  a 
phrase  of  a  low-murmured  prayer.  Then  one  dark 
form  moved  silently  away.  She  was  alone  with  Jim. 

"Dearest  Joan!"  he  whispered.  "It's  over!  It's 
done!  .  .  .  Kiss  me!" 

She  lifted  her  lips  and  Jim  seemed  to  kiss  her 
more  sweetly,  with  less  violence. 

"Oh,  Joan,  that  you'd  really  have  me!  I  can't 
believe  it.  ...  Your  husband." 

That  word  dispelled  the  dream  and  the  pain 
which  had  held  Joan,  leaving  only  the  tenderness, 
magnified  now  a  hundredfold. 

And  that  instant  when  she  was  locked  in  Cleve's 
arms,  when  the  silence  was  so  beautiful  and  full,  she 
heard  the  heavy  pound  of  a  gun-butt  upon  the  table 
in  Kells's  room. 

"Where  is  Cleve?"  That  was  the  voice  of  Kells, 
stern,  demanding. 

Joan  felt  a  start,  a  tremor  run  over  Jim.  Then  he 
stiffened. 

"I  can't  locate  him,"  replied  Red  Pearce.  "It 
was  the  same  last  night  an'  the  one  before.  Cleve 
jest  disappears  these  nights — about  this  time.  .  .  . 
Some  woman's  got  him!" 

"He  goes  to  bed.     Can't  you  find  where  he  sleeps?" 

"No." 

"This  job's  got  to  go  through  and  he's  got  to  do 
it." 

"Bah!"  taunted  Pearce.  "Gulden  swears  you 
can't  make  Cleve  do  a  job.  And  so  do  I!" 

"Go  out  and  yell  for  Cleve!  .  .  .Damn  you  all! 
I'll  show  you!" 

260 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

Then  Joan  heard  the  tramp  of  heavy  boots,  then 
a  softer  tramp  on  the  ground  outside  the  cabin. 
Joan  waited,  holding  her  breath.  She  felt  Jim's 
heart  beating.  He  stood  like  a  post.  He,  like  Joan, 
was  listening,  as  if  for  a  trumpet  of  doom. 

"HALLO,  JIM!"  rang  out  Pearce's  stentorian  call. 
It  murdered  the  silence.  It  boomed  under  the  bluff, 
and  clapped  in  echo,  and  wound  away,  mockingly. 
It  seemed  to  have  shrieked  to  the  whole  wild  border 
land  the  breaking-point  of  the  bandit's  power. 

So  momentous  was  the  call  that  Jim  Cleve  seemed 
to  forget  Joan,  and  she  let  him  go  without  a  word. 
Indeed,  he  was  gone  before  she  realized  it,  and  his 
dark  form  dissolved  in  the  shadows.  Joan  waited, 
listening  with  abated  breathing.  On  this  side  of 
the  cabin  there  was  absolute  silence.  She  believed 
that  Jim  would  slip  around  under  cover  of  night  and 
return  by  the  road  from  camp.  Then  what  would 
he  do?  The  question  seemed  to  stultify  her. 

Joan  leaned  there  at  her  window  for  moments 
greatly  differing  from  those  vaguely  happy  ones  just 
passed.  She  had  sustained  a  shock  that  had  left 
her  benumbed  with  a  dull  pain.  What  a  rude,  raw 
break  the  voice  of  Kells  had  made  in  her  brief  for- 
getf ulness!  She  was  returning  now  to  reality. 
Presently  she  would  peer  through  the  crevice  be 
tween  the  boards  into  the  other  room,  and  she 
shrank  from  the  ordeal.  Kells,  and  whoever  was 
with  him,  maintained  silence.  Occasionally  she 
heard  the  shuffle  of  a  boot  and  a  creak  of  the  loose 
floor  boards.  She  waited  till  anxiety  and  fear  com 
pelled  her  to  look. 

261 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

The  lamps  were  burning;  the  door  was  wide  open. 
Apparently  Kells 's  rule  of  secrecy  had  been  aban 
doned.  One  glance  at  Kells  was  enough  to  show 
Joan  that  he  was  sick  and  desperate.  Handy  Oliver 
did  not  wear  his  usual  lazy  good  humor.  Red 
Pearce  sat  silent  and  sullen,  a  smoking,  unheeded 
pipe  in  his  hand.  Jesse  Smith  was  gloomy.  The 
only  other  present  was  Bate  Wood,  and  whatever 
had  happened  had  in  no  wise  affected  him.  These 
bandits  were  all  waiting. 

Presently  quick  footsteps  on  the  path  outside 
caused  them  all  to  look  toward  the  door.  That 
tread  was  familiar  to  Joan,  and  suddenly  her 
mouth  was  dry,  her  tongue  stiff.  What  was  Jim 
Cleve  coming  to  meet?  How  sharp  and  decided 
his  walk!  Then  his  dark  form  crossed  the  bar  of 
light  outside  the  door,  and  he  entered,  bold  and  cool, 
and  with  a  weariness  that  must  have  been  simulated. 

"Howdy,  boys!"  he  said. 

Only  Kells  greeted  him  in  response.  The  bandit 
eyed  him  curiously.  The  others  added  suspicion  to 
their  glances. 

"Did  you  hear  Red's  yell?"  queried  Kells,  pres 
ently. 

"I'd  have  heard  that  roar  if  I'd  been  dead,"  re 
plied  Cleve,  bluntly.  "And  I  didn't  like  it!  ...  I 
was  coming  up  the  road  and  I  heard  Pearce  yell. 
I'll  bet  every  man  in  camp  heard  it." 

"How'd  you  know  Pearce  yelled  for  you?" 

"I  recognized  his  voice." 

Cleve' s  manner  recalled  to  Joan  her  first  sight  of 
him  over  in  Cabin  Gulch.  He  was  not  so  white  or 
haggard,  but  his  eyes  were  piercing,  and  what  had 

262 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

once  been  recklessness  now  seemed  to  be  boldness. 
He  deliberately  studied  Pearce.  Joan  trembled,  for 
she  divined  what  none  of  these  robbers  knew,  and  it 
was  that  Pearce  was  perilously  near  death.  It  was 
there  for  Joan  to  read  in  Jim's  dark  glance. 

"  Where' ve  you  been  all  these  nights?"  queried  the 
bandit  leader. 

"Is  that  any  of  your  business — when  you  haven't 
had  need  of  me?"  returned  Cleve. 

"Yes,  it's  my  business.  And  I've  sent  for  you. 
You  couldn't  be  found." 

"I've  been  here  for  supper  every  night." 

"I  don't  talk  to  my  men  in  daylight.  You  know 
my  hours  for  meeting.  And  you've  not  come." 

"You  should  have  told  me.  How  was  I  to 
know?" 

"I  guess  you're  right.     But  where've  you  been?" 

"Down  in  camp.  Faro,  most  of  the  time.  Bad 
luck,  too." 

Red  Pearce 's  coarse  face  twisted  into  a  scornful 
sneer.  It  must  have  been  a  lash  to  Kells. 

"Pearce  says  you're  chasing  a  woman,"  retorted 
the  bandit  leader. 

"Pearce  lies!"  flashed  Cleve.  His  action  was  as 
swift.  And  there  he  stood  with  a  gun  thrust  hard 
against  Pearce 's  side. 

"Jim!     Don't  kill  him!"  yelled  Kells,  rising. 

Pearce's  red  face  turned  white.  He  stood  still  as  a 
stone,  with  his  gaze  fixed  in  fascinated  fear  upon 
Gleve's  gun. 

A  paralyzing  surprise  appeared  to  hold  the  group. 

"Can  you  prove  what  you  said?"  asked  Cleve, 
low  and  hard. 

263 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

Joan  knew  that  if  Pearce  did  have  the  proof 
which  would  implicate  her  he  would  never  live  to 
tell  it. 

"Cleve — I  don't — know  no  thin',"  choked  out 
Pearce.  "I  jest  figgered — it  was  a  woman!" 

Cleve  slowry  lowered  the  gun  and  stepped  back. 
Evidently  that  satisfied  him.  But  Joan  had  an  in 
tuitive  feeling  that  Pearce  lied. 

' '  You  want  to  be  careful  how  you  talk  about  me, '  * 
said  Cleve. 

Kells  puffed  out  a  suspended  breath  and  he  flung 
the  sweat  from  his  brow.  There  was  about  him, 
perhaps  more  than  the  others,  a  dark  realization  of 
how  close  the  call  had  been  for  Pearce. 

"Jim,  you're  not  drunk?" 

"No." 

"But  you're  sore?" 

"Sure  I'm  sore.  Pearce  put  me  in  bad  with  you, 
didn't  he?" 

"No.  You  misunderstood  me.  Red  hasn't  a 
thing  against  you.  And  neither  he  nor  anybody  else 
could  put  you  iii  bad  with  me." 

"All  right.  Maybe  I  was  hasty.  But  I'm  not 
wasting  time  these  days,"  replied  Cleve.  "I've  no 
hard  feelings.  .  .  .  Pearce,  do  you  want  to  shake  hands 
—or  hold  that  against  me?" 

"He'll  shake,  of  course,"  said  Kells. 

Pearce  extended  his  hand,  but  with  a  bad  grace. 
He  was  dominated.  This  affront  of  Cleve's  would 
rankle  in  him. 

"Kells,  what  do  you  want  with  me?"  demanded 
Cleve. 

A  change  passed  over  Kells,  and  Joan  could  not 

264 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

tell  just  what  it  was,  but  somehow  it  seemed  to  sug 
gest  a  weaker  man. 

"Jim,  you've  been  a  great  card  for  me,"  began 
Kells,  impressively.  "You've  helped  my  game — 
and  twice  you  saved  my  life.  I  think  a  lot  of  you. 
...  If  you  stand  by  me  now  I  swear  I'll  return  the 
trick  some  day.  .  .  .  Will  you  stand  by  me?" 

"Yes,"  replied  Cleve,  steadily,  but  he  grew  pale, 
"What's  the  trouble?" 

"By ,  it's  bad  enough!"  exclaimed  Kells,  and 

as  he  spoke  the  shade  deepened  in  his  haggard  face. 
' '  Gulden  has  split  my  Legion.  He  has  drawn  away 
more  than  half  my  men.  They  have  been  drank 
and  crazy  ever  since.  They've  taken  things  into 
their  own  hands.  You  see  the  result  as  well  as  I. 
That  camp  down  there  is  fire  and  brimstone.  Some 
one  of  that  drunken  gang  has  talked.  We're  none 
of  us  safe  any  more.  I  see  suspicion  everywhere. 
I've  urged  getting  a  big  stake  and  then  hitting  the 
trail  for  the  border.  But  not  a  man  sticks  to  me  in 
that.  They  all  want  the  free,  easy,  wild  life  of  this 
gold-camp.  So  we're  anchored  till — till  .  .  .  But 
maybe  it's  not  too  late.  Pearce,  Oliver,  Smith — all 
the  best  of  my  Legion — profess  loyalty  to  me.  If  we 
all  pull  together  maybe  we  can  win  yet.  But  they've 
threatened  to  split,  too.  And  it's  all  on  your 
account!" 

"Mine?"  ejaculated  Cleve. 

"Yes.  Now  it's  nothing  to  make  you  flash  your 
gun.  Remember  you  said  you'd  stand  by  me.  .  .  . 
Jim,  the  fact  is — all  the  gang  to  a  man  believe  you're 
double-crossing  me!" 

"In  what  way?"  queried  Cleve,  blanching. 
265 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

"They  think  you're  the  one  who  has  talked. 
They  blame  you  for  the  suspicion  that's  growing." 

"Well,  they're  absolutely  wrong,"  declared  Cleve, 
in  a  ringing  voice. 

"I  know  they  are.  Mind  you  I'm  not  hinting  I 
distrust  you.  I  don't.  I  swear  by  you.  But 
Pearce— " 

"So  it's  Pearce,"  interrupted  Cleve,  darkly.  "I 
thought  you  said  he  hadn't  tried  to  put  me  in  bad 
with  you." 

"He  hasn't.  He  simply  spoke  his  convictions. 
He  has  a  right  to  them.  So  have  all  the  men. 
And,  to  come  to  the  point,  they  all  think  you're 
crooked  because  you're  honest!" 

"I  don't  understand,"  replied  Cleve,  slowly. 

"Jim,  you  rode  into  Cabin  Gulch,  and  you  raised 
some  trouble.  But  you  were  no  bandit.  You 
joined  my  Legion,  but  you've  never  become  a  bandit. 
Here  you've  been  an  honest  miner.  That  suited  my 
plan  and  it  helped.  But  it's  got  so  it  doesn't  suit 
my  men.  You  work  every  day  hard.  You've 
struck  it  rich.  You're  well  thought  of  in  Alder 
Creek.  You've  never  done  a  dishonest  thing.  Why, 
you  wouldn't  turn  a  crooked  trick  in  a  card  game  for 
a  sack  full  of  gold.  This  has  hurt  you  with  my 
men.  They  can't  see  as  I  see,  that  you're  as  square 
as  you  are  game.  They  see  you're  an  honest  miner. 
They  believe  you've  got  into  a  clique — that  you've 
given  us  away.  I  don't  blame  Pearce  or  any  of  my 
men.  This  is  a  time  when  men's  intelligence,  if  they 
have  any,  doesn't  operate.  Their  brains  are  on  fire. 
They  see  gold  and  whisky  and  blood,  and  they  feel 
gold  and  whisky  and  blood.  That's  all.  I'm  glad 

266 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

that  the  gang  gives  you  the  benefit  of  a  doubt  and  a 
chance  to  stand  by  me." 

"A  chance!" 

"Yes.  They've  worked  out  a  job  for  you  alone. 
Will  you  undertake  it?" 

'Til  have  to,"  replied  Cleve. 

' '  You  certainly  will  if  you  want  the  gang  to  justify 
my  faith  in  you.  Once  you  pull  off  a  crooked  deal, 
they'll  switch  and  swear  by  you.  Then  we'll  get 
together,  all  of  us,  and  plan  what  to  do  about  Gulden 
and  his  outfit.  They'll  run  our  heads,  along  with 
their  own,  right  into  the  noose." 

' '  What  is  this— this  job  ?"  labored  Cleve.  He  was 
sweating  now  and  his  hair  hung  damp  over  his  brow. 
He  lost  that  look  which  had  made  him  a  bold  man 
and  seemed  a  boy  again,  weak,  driven,  bewildered. 

Kells  averted  his  gaze  before  speaking  again. 
He  hated  to  force  this  task  upon  Cleve.  Joan  felt, 
in  the  throbbing  pain  of  the  moment,  that  if  she 
never  had  another  reason  to  like  this  bandit,  she 
would  like  him  for  the  pity  he  showed. 

"Do  you  know  a  miner  named  Creede?"  asked 
Kells,  rapidly. 

"A  husky  chap,  short,  broad,  something  like 
Gulden  for  shape,  only  not  so  big — fellow  with  a 
fierce  red  beard?"  asked  Cleve. 

"I  never  saw  him,"  replied  Kells.  *>But  Pearce 
has.  How  does  Cleve 's  description  fit  Creede?" 

"He's  got  his  man  spotted,"  answered  Pearce. 

"All  right,  that's  settled,"  went  'on  Kells,  warming 

to  his  subject.     "This  fellow  Creede  wears  a  heavy 

belt    of    gold.     Blicky    never    makes    a    mistake. 

Creede 's    partner    left    on    yesterday's    stage    for 

18  267 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

Bannack.  He'll  be  gone  a  few  days.  Creede  is  a 
hard  worker — one  of  the  hardest.  Sometimes  he 
goes  to  sleep  at  his  supper.  He's  not  the  drinking 
kind.  He's  slow,  thick-headed.  The  best  time  for 
this  job  will  be  early  in  the  evening — just  as  soon  as 
his  lights  are  out.  Locate  the  tent.  It  stands  at  the 
head  of  a  little  wash  and  there's  a  bleached  pine-tree 
right  by  the  tent.  To-morrow  night  as  soon  as  it 
gets  dark  crawl  up  this  wash — be  careiul — wait  till 
the  right  time — then  finish  the  job  quick!" 

"How — finish — it?"  asked  Cleve,  hoarsely. 

Kells  was  scintillating  now,  steely,  cold,  radiant. 
He  had  forgotten  the  man  before  him  in  the  prospect 
of  the  gold. 

"Creede's  cot  is  on  the  side  of  the  tent  opposite 
the  tree.  You  won't  have  to  go  inside.  Slit  the 
canvas.  It's  a  rotten  old  tent.  Kill  Creede  with 
your  knife.  .  .  .  Get  his  belt.  ...  Be  bold,  cautious, 
swift!  That's  your  job.  Now  what  do  you  say?" 

"All  right,"  responded  Cleve,  somberly,  and  with 
a  heavy  tread  he  left  the  room. 

After  Jim  had  gone  Joan  still  watched  and  listened. 
She  was  in  distress  over  his  unfortunate  situation, 
but  she  had  no  fear  that  he  meant  to  carry  out  Kells 's 
plan.  This  was  a  critical  time  for  Jim,  and  there 
fore  for  her.  She  had  no  idea  what  Jim  could  do; 
all  she  thought  of  was  what  he  would  not  do. 

Kells  gazed  triumphantly  at  Pearce.  ' '  I  told  you 
the  youngster  would  stand  by  me.  I  never  put  him 
on  a  job  before." 

"Reckon  I  figgeyed  wrong,  boss,"  replied  Pearce. 

"He  looked  sick  to  me,  but  game,"  said  Handy 
268 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

Oliver.  "Kells  is  right,  Red,  an'  you've  been  sore- 
headed  over  nothin'!" 

"Mebbe.  But  ain't  it  good  figgerin'  to  make 
Cleve  do  some  kind  of  a  job,  even  if  he  is  on  the 
square?" 

They  all  acquiesced  to  this,  even  Kells  slowly  nod 
ding  his  head. 

"Jack,  I've  thought  of  another  an'  better  job  for 
young  Cleve,"  spoke  up  Jesse  Smith,  with  his  charac 
teristic  grin. 

"•You'll  all  be  setting  him  jobs  now,"  replied 
Kells.  "What's  yours?" 

"You  spoke  of  plannin'  to  get  together  once  more 
— what's  left  of  us.  An'  there's  thet  bull-head 
Gulden." 

"You're  sure  right,"  returned  the  leader,  grimly, 
and  he  looked  at  Smith  as  if  he  would  welcome  any 
suggestion. 

"I  never  was  afraid  to  speak  my  mind,"  went  on 
Smith.  Here  he  lost  his  grin  and  his  coarse  mouth 
grew  hard.  "Gulden  will  have  to  be  killed  if  we're 
goin'  to  last!" 

"Wood,  what  do  you  say?"  queried  Kells,  with 
narrowing  eyes. 

Bate  Wood  nodded  as  approvingly  as  if  he  had 
been  asked  about  his  bread. 

"Oliver,  what  do  you  say?" 

"Wai,  I'd  love  to  wait  an'  see  Gul  hang,  but  if  you 
press  me,  I'll  agree  to  stand  pat  with  the  cards 
Jesse's  dealt,"  replied  Handy  Oliver. 

Then  Kells  turned  with  a  bright  gleam  upon  his 
face.  "And  you — Pearce?" 

"I'd  say  yes  in  a  minute  if  I'd  not  have  to  take 
269 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

a  hand  in  thet  job,"  replied  Pearce,  with  a  hard 
laugh.  "  Gulden  won't  be  so  easy  to  kill.  He'll 
pack  a  gunful  of  lead.  I'll  gamble  if  the  gang  of  us 
cornered  him  in  this  cabin  he'd  do  for  most  of  us 
before  we  killed  him." 

"Gul  sleeps  alone,  no  one  knows  where,"  said 
Handy  Oliver.  "An'  he  can't  be  surprised.  Red's 
correct.  How  're  we  goin'  to  kill  him?" 

"If  you  gents  will  listen  you'll  find  out,"  rejoined 
Jesse  Smith.  "Thet's  the  job  for  young  Cleve.  He 
can  do  it.  Sure  Gulden  never  was  afraid  of  any 
man.  But  somethin'  about  Cleve  bluffed  him.  I 
don't  know  what.  Send  Cleve  out  after  Gulden. 
He'll  call  him  face  to  face,  anywhere,  an'  beat  him 
to  a  gun !  .  .  .  Take  my  word  for  it." 

"Jesse,  that's  the  grandest  idea  you  ever  had," 
said  Kells,  softly.  His  eyes  shone.  The  old  power 
came  back  to  his  face.  "I  split  on  Gulden.  With 
him  once  out  of  the  way — !" 

"Boss,  are  you  goin'  to  make  thet  Jim  Cleve's 
second  job?"  inquired  Pearce,  curiously. 

"I  am,"  replied  Kells,  with  his  jaw  corded  and 
stiff. 

"If  he  pulls  thet  off  you'll  never  hear  a  yap  from 
me  so  long  as  I  live.  An'  I'll  eat  out  of  Cleve's 
hand." 

Joan  could  bear  to  hear  no  more.  She  staggered 
to  her  bed  and  fell  there,  all  cramped  as  if  in  a  cold 
vise.  However  Jim  might  meet  the  situation 
planned  for  murdering  Creede,  she  knew  he  would 
not  shirk  facing  Gulden  with  deadly  intent.  He 
hated  Gulden  because  she  had  a  horror  of  him. 

270 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

Would  these  hours  of  suspense  never  end?  Must 
she  pass  from  one  torture  to  another  until — ? 

Sleep  did  not  come  for  a  long  time.  And  when  it 
did  she  suffered  with  nightmares  from  which  it 
seemed  she  could  never  awaken. 

The  day,  when  at  last  it  arrived,  was  no  better 
than  the  night.  It  wore  on  endlessly,  and  she  who 
listened  so  intently  found  it  one  of  the  silent  days. 
Only  Bate  Wood  remained  at  the  cabin.  He  ap 
peared  kinder  than  usual,  but  Joan  did  not  want  to 
talk.  She  ate  her  meals,  and  passed  the  hours 
watching  from  the  window  and  lying  on  the  bed. 
Dusk  brought  Kells  and  Pearce  and  Smith,  but  not 
Jim  Cleve.  Handy  Oliver  and  Blicky  arrived  at 
supper-time. 

"Reckon  Jim's  appetite  is  pore,"  remarked  Bate 
Wood,  reflectively.  "He  'ain't  been  in  to-day." 

Some  of  the  bandits  laughed,  but  Kells  had  a 
twinge,  if  Joan  ever  saw  a  man  have  one.  The  dark, 
formidable,  stern  look  was  on  his  face.  He  alone  of 
the  men  ate  sparingly,  and  after  the  meal  he  took  to 
his  bent  posture  and  thoughtful  pacing.  Joan  saw 
the  added  burden  of  another  crime  upon  his  shoul 
ders.  Conversation,  which  had  been  desultory,  and 
such  as  any  miners  or  campers  might  have  indulged 
in,  gradually  diminished  to  a  word  here  and  there, 
and  finally  ceased.  Kells  always  at  this  hour  had  a 
dampening  effect  upon  his  followers.  More  and 
more  he  drew  aloof  from  them,  yet  he  never  realized 
that.  He  might  have  been  alone.  But  often  he 
glanced  out  of  the  door,  and  appeared  to  listen. 
Of  course  he  expected  Jim  Cleve  to  return,  but  what 
did  he  expect  of  him?  Joan  had  a  blind  faith  that 

271 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

Jim  would  be  cunning  enough  to  fool  Kells  and 
Pearce.  So  much  depended  upon  it! 

Some  of  the  bandits  uttered  an  exclamation. 
Then  silently,  like  a  shadow,  Jim  Cleve  entered. 

Joan's  heart  leaped  and  seemed  to  stand  still. 
Jim  could  not  have  looked  more  terrible  if  he  were 
really  a  murderer.  He  opened  his  coat.  Then  he 
flung  a  black  object  upon  the  table  and  it  fell  with  a 
soft,  heavy,  sodden  thud.  It  was  a  leather  belt 
packed  with  gold. 

When  Kells  saw  that  he  looked  no  more  at  the  pale 
Cleve.  His  clawlike  hand  swept  out  for  the  belt, 
lifted  and  weighed  it.  Likewise  the  other  bandits, 
with  gold  in  sight,  surged  round  Kells,  forgetting 
Cleve. 

"Twenty  pounds!"  exclaimed  Kells,  with  a 
strange  rapture  in  his  voice. 

' '  Let  me  heft  it  ?"  asked  Pearce,  thrillingly. 

Joan  saw  and  heard  so  much,  then  through  a  kind 
of  dimness,  that  she  could  not  wipe  away,  her  eyes 
beheld  Jim.  What  was  the  awful  thing  that  she 
interpreted  from  his  face,  his  mien  ?  Was  this  a  part 
he  was  playing  to  deceive  Kells  ?  The  slow-gathering 
might  of  her  horror  came  with  the  meaning  of  that 
gold-belt.  Jim  had  brought  back  the  gold-belt  of 
the  miner  Creede.  He  had,  in  his  passion  to  remain 
near  her,  to  save  her  in  the  end,  kept  his  word  to  Kells 
and  done  the  ghastly  deed. 

Joan  reeled  and  sank  back  upon  the  bed,  blindly, 
with  darkening  sight  and  mind. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

JOAN  returned  to  consciousness  with  a  sense  of 
vague  and  unlocalized  pain  which  she  thought 
was  that  old,  familiar  pang  of  grief.  But  once  fully 
awakened,  as  if  by  a  sharp  twinge,  she  became  aware 
that  the  pain  was  some  kind  of  muscular  throb  in 
her  shoulder.  The  instant  she  was  fully  sure  of  this 
the  strange  feeling  ceased.  Then  she  lay  wide-eyed 
in  the  darkness,  waiting  and  wondering. 

Suddenly  the  slight  sharp  twinge  was  repeated. 
It  seemed  to  come  from  outside  her  flesh.  She 
shivered  a  little,  thinking  it  might  be  a  centipede. 
When  she  reached  for  her  shoulder  her  hand  came 
in  contact  with  a  slender  stick  that  had  been  thrust 
through  a  crack  between  the  boards.  Jim  was 
trying  to  rouse  her.  This  had  been  his  method  on 
several  occasions  when  she  had  fallen  asleep  after 
waiting  long  for  him. 

Joan  got  up  to  the  window,  dizzy  and  sick  with 
the  resurging  memory  of  Jim's  return  to  Kells  with 
that  gold-belt. 

Jim  rose  out  of  the  shadow  and  felt  for  her, 
clasped  her  close.  Joan  had  none  of  the  old  thrill; 
her  hands  slid  loosely  round  his;  and  every  second 
the  weight  inwardly  grew  heavier. 

'  'Joan !  I  had  a  time  waking  you,"  whispered  Jim, 
and  then  he  kissed  her.  ' '  Why,  you're  as  cold  as  ice. ' ' 

273 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

"Jim — I — I  must  have  fainted,"  she  replied. 

"What  for?" 

"I  was  peeping  into  Kells's  cabin,  when  you — 
you—" 

"Poor  kid!"  he  interrupted,  tenderly.  "You've 
had  so  much  to  bear !  .  .  .  Joan,  I  fooled  Kells.  Oh, 
I  was  slick! ...  He  ordered  me  out  on  a  job — to  kill 
a  miner!  Fancy  that!  And  what  do  you  think? 
I  know  Creede  well.  He's  a  good  fellow.  I  traded 
my  big  nugget  for  his  gold-belt!" 

"You  traded— you— didn't— kill  him!"  faltered 
Joan. 

"Hear  the  child  talk!"  exclaimed  Cleve,  with  a 
low  laugh. 

Joan  suddenly  clung  to  him  with  all  her  might, 
quivering  in  a  silent  joy.  It  had  not  occurred  to 
Jim  what  she  might  have  thought. 

"Listen,"  he  went  on.  "I  traded  my  nugget.  It 
was  worth  a  great  deal  more  than  Creede's  gold-belt. 
He  knew  this.  He  didn't  want  to  trade.  But  I 
coaxed  him.  I  persuaded  him  to  leave  camp — to 
walk  out  on  the  road  to  Bannack.  To  meet  the 
stage  somewhere  and  go  on  to  Bannack,  and  stay 
a  few  days.  He  sure  was  curious.  But  I  kept  my 
secret.  .  .  .  Then  I  came  back  here,  gave  the  belt  to 
Kells,  told  him  I  had  followed  Creede  in  the  dark, 
had  killed  him  and  slid  him  into  a  deep  hole  in  the 
creek.  .  .  .  Kells  and  Pearce — none  of  them  paid  any 
attention  to  my  story.  I  had  the  gold-belt.  That 
was  enough.  Gold  talks — fills  the  ears  of  these 
bandits.  ...  I  have  my  share  of  Creede's  gold-dust 
in  my  pocket.  Isn't  that  funny?  Alas  for  my — 
your  big  nugget!  But  we've  got  to  play  the  game. 

274 


THE    BORDER   LEGION 

Besides,  I've  sacks  and  cans  of  gold  hidden  away. 
Joan,  what  11  we  do  with  it  all?  You're  my  wife 
now.  And,  oh!  if  we  can  only  get  away  with  it 
you'll  be  rich!" 

Joan  could  not  share  his  happiness  any  more  than 
she  could  understand  his  spirit.  She  remembered. 

''Jim — dear — did  Kells  tell  you  what  your — next 
job  was  to  be?"  she  whispered,  haltingly. 

Cleve  swore  under  his  breath,  but  loud  enough  to 
make  Joan  swiftly  put  her  hand  over  his  lips  and 
caution  him. 

' '  Joan,  did  you  hear  that  about  Gulden  ?"  he  asked. 

"Oh  yes." 

"I'm  sorry.  I  didn't  mean  to  tell  you.  Yes, 
I've  got  my  second  job.  And  this  one  I  can't  shirk 
or  twist  around." 

Joan  held  to  him  convulsively.  She  could  scarcely 
speak. 

"Girl,  don't  you  lose  your  nerve!"  he  said,  sternly. 
"When  you  married  me  you  made  me  a  man.  I'll 
play  my  end  of  the  game.  Don't  fear  for  me. 
You  plan  when  we  can  risk  escape.  I'll  obey  you 
to  the  word." 

"But  Jim — oh,  Jim!"  she  moaned.  "You're  as 
wild  as  these  bandits.  You  can't  see  your  danger. 
.  .  .  That  terrible  Gulden!  .  .  .  You  don't  mean  to 
meet  him — fight  him?  .  .  .  Say  you  won't!" 

"Joan,  I'll  meet  him — and  I'll  kill  him,"  whispered 
Jim,  with  a  piercing  intensity.  "You  never  knew  I 
was  swift  with  a  gun.  Well,  I  didn't,  either,  till  I 
struck  the  border.  I  know  now.  Kells  is  the  only 
man  I've  seen  who  can  throw  a  gun  quicker  than  I. 
Gulden  is  a  big  bull.  He's  slow.  I'll  get  into  a 

275 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

card-game  with  him — I'll  quarrel  over  gold — I'll 
smash  him  as  I  did  once  before — and  this  time  I 
won't  shoot  off  his  ear.  I've  my  nerve  now.  Kells 
swore  he'd  do  anything  for  me  if  I  stand  by  him 
now.  I  will.  You  never  can  tell.  Kells  is  losing 
his  grip.  And  my  standing  by  him  may  save 
you." 

Joan  drew  a  deep  breath.  Jim  Cleve  had  indeed 
come  into  manhood.  She  crushed  down  her  woman 
ish  fears  and  rose  dauntless  to  the  occasion.  She 
would  never  weaken  him  by  a  lack  of  confidence. 

"Jim,  Kells's  plot  draws  on  to  a  fatal  close,"  she 
said,  earnestly.  "I  feel  it.  He's  doomed.  He 
doesn't  realize  that  yet.  He  hopes  and  plots  on. 
When  he  falls,  then  he'll  be  great — terrible.  We 
must  get  away  before  that  comes.  What  you  said 
about  Creede  has  given  me  an  idea.  Suppose  we 
plan  to  slip  out  some  night  soon,  and  stop  the 
stage  next  day  on  its  way  to  Bannock?" 

"I've  thought  of  that.  But  we  must  have 
horses." 

"Let's  go  afoot.  We'd  be  safer.  There'd  not  be 
so  much  to  plan." 

"But  if  we  go  on  foot  we  must  pack  guns  and 
grub — and  there's  my  gold-dust.  Fifty  pounds  or 
more!  It's  yours,  Joan.  .  .  .  You'll  need  it  all. 
You  love  pretty  clothes  and  things.  And  now  I'll 
get  them  for  you  or — or  die." 

"Hush!  That's  foolish  talk,  with  our  very  lives 
at  stake.  Let  me  plan  some  more.  Oh,  I  think  so 
hard!  .  .  .  And,  Jim,  there's  another  thing.  Red 
Pearce  was  more  than  suspicious  about  your  absence 
from  the  cabin  at  certain  hours.  What  he  hinted  to 

276 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

Kells  about  a  woman  in  the  case!  I'm  afraid  he 
suspects  or  knows." 

"He  had  me  cold,  too,"  replied  Cleve,  thought 
fully.  "But  he  swore  he  knew  nothing." 

"Jim,  trust  a  woman's  instinct.  Pearce  lied. 
That  gun  at  his  side  made  him  a  liar.  He  knew 
you'd  kill  him  if  he  betrayed  himself  by  a  word. 
Oh,  lookout  for  him!" 

Cleve  did  not  reply.  It  struck  Joan  that  he  was 
not  listening,  at  least  to  her.  His  head  was  turned, 
rigid  and  alert.  He  had  his  ear  to  the  soft  wind. 
Suddenly  Joan  heard  a  faint  rustle — then  another. 
They  appeared  to  come  from  the  corner  of  the  cabin. 
Silently  Cleve  sank  down  into  the  shadow  and 
vanished.  Low,  stealth}'  footsteps  followed,  but 
Joan  was  not  sure  whether  or  not  Cleve  made  them. 
They  did  not  seem  to  come  from  the  direction  he 
usually  took.  Besides,  when  he  was  careful  he  never 
made  the  slightest  noise.  Joan  strained  her  ears, 
only  to  catch  the  faint  sounds  of  the  night.  She 
lay  back  upon  her  bed,  worried  and  anxious  again, 
and  soon  the  dread  returned.  There  were  to  be  no 
waking  or  sleeping  hours  free  from  this  portent  of 
calamity. 

Next  morning  Joan  awaited  Kells,  as  was  her 
custom,  but  he  did  not  appear.  This  was  the  third 
time  in  a  week  that  he  had  forgotten  or  avoided  her 
or  had  been  prevented  from  seeing  her.  Joan  was 
glad,  yet  the  fact  was  not  reassuring.  The  issue  for 
Kells  was  growing  from  trouble  to  disaster. 

Early  in  the  afternoon  she  hear  Kells  returning 
from  camp.  He  had  men  with  him.  They  con- 

277 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

versed  in  low,  earnest  tones.  Joan  was  about  to 
spy  upon  them  when  Kells 's  step  approached  her 
door.  He  rapped  and  spoke: 

1  'Put  on  Dandy  Dale's  suit  and  mask,  and  come 
out  here,"  he  said. 

The  tone  of  his  voice  as  much  as  the  content  of  his 
words  startled  Joan  so  that  she  did  not  at  once  reply. 

"Do  you  hear?"  he  called,  sharply. 

"Yes,"  replied  Joan. 

Then  he  went  back  to  the  men,  and  the  low,  earnest 
conversation  was  renewed. 

Reluctantly  Joan  took  down  Dandy  Dale's  things 
from  the  pegs,  and  with  a  recurring  shame  she 
divested  herself  of  part  of  her  clothes  and  donned  the 
suit  and  boots  and  mask  and  gun.  Her  spirit  rose, 
however,  at  the  thought  that  this  would  be  a  disguise 
calculated  to  aid  her  in  the  escape  with  Cleve.  But 
why  had  Kells  ordered  the  change?  Was  he  in 
danger  and  did  he  mean  to  flee  from  Alder  Creek? 
Joan  found  the  speculation  a  relief  from  that  haunt 
ing,  persistent  thought  of  Jim  Cleve  and  Gulden. 
She  was  eager  to  learn,  still  she  hesitated  at  the  door. 
It  was  just  as  hard  as  ever  to  face  those  men. 

But  it  must  be,  so  with  a  wrench  she  stepped  out 
boldly. 

Kells  looked  worn  and  gray.  He  had  not  slept. 
But  his  face  did  not  wear  the  shade  she  had  come  to 
associate  with  his  gambling  and  drinking.  Six 
other  men  were  present,  and  Joan  noted  coats  and 
gloves  and  weapons  and  spurs.  Kells  turned  to 
address  her.  His  face  lighted  fleetingly. 

"I  want  you  to  be  ready  to  ride  any  minute,"  he 
said. 

278 


THE    BORDER   LEGION 

"Why?"  asked  Joan. 

"We  may  have  to,  that's  all,"  he  replied. 

His  men,  usually  so  keen  when  they  had  a  chance 
to  ogle  Joan,  now  scarcely  gave  her  a  glance.  They 
were  a  dark,  grim  group,  with  hard  eyes  and  tight 
lips.  Handy  Oliver  was  speaking. 

"I  tell  you,  Gulden  swore  he  seen  Creede — on  the 
road — in  the  lamplight — last  night  after  Jim  Cleve 
got  here." 

"Gulden  must  have  been  mistaken,"  declared 
Kells,  impatiently. 

"He  ain't  the  kind  to  make  mistakes,"  replied 
Oliver. 

"Gul's  seen  Creede's  ghost,  thet's  what,"  sug 
gested  Blicky,  uneasily.  "I've  seen  a  few  in  my 
time." 

Some  of  the  bandits  nodded  gloomily. 

"Aw!"  burst  out  Red  Pearce.  "Gulden  never 
seen  a  ghost  in  his  life.  If  he  seen  Creede  he's  seen 
him  alive!'1 

"Shore  you're  right,  Red,"  agreed  Jesse  Smith. 

"But,  men — Cleve  brought  in  Creede's  belt — and 
we've  divided  the  gold,"  said  Kells.  "You  all  know 
Creede  would  have  to  be  dead  before  that  belt  could 
be  unbuckled  from  him.  There's  a  mistake." 

"Boss,  it's  my  idee  thet  Gul  is  only  makin'  more 
trouble,"  put  in  Bate  Wood.  "I  seen  him  less  than 
an  hour  ago.  I  was  the  first  one  Gul  talked  to. 
An'  he  knew  Jim  Cleve  did  for  Creede.  How'd 
he  know?  Thet  was  supposed  to  be  a  secret. 
What's  more,  Gul  told  me  Cleve  was  on  the  job  to 
kill  him.  How'd  he  ever  find  thet  out?  .  .  .  Sure  as 
God  made  little  apples  Cleve  never  told  him!" 

279 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

Kells's  face  grew  livid  and  his  whole  body  vibrated. 
"Maybe  one  of  Gulden's  gang  was  outside,  listening, 
when  we  planned  Cleve's  job,"  he  suggested.  But 
his  look  belied  his  hope. 

"Naw!  There's  a  nigger  in  the  wood-pile,  you 
can  gamble  on  thet,"  blurted  out  the  sixth  bandit, 
a  lean-faced,  bold-eyed,  blond-mustached  fellow 
whose  name  Joan  had  never  heard. 

"I  won't  believe  it,"  replied  Kells,  doggedly. 
"And  you,  Budd,  you're  accusing  somebody  present 
of  treachery — or  else  Cleve.  He's  the  only  one  not 
here  who  knew." 

"Wai,  I  always  said  thet  youngster  was  slick," 
replied  Budd. 

"Will  you  accuse  him  to  his  face?" 

"I  shore  will.     Glad  of  the  chance." 

"Then  you're  drunk  or  just  a  fool." 

"Thet  so?" 

"Yes,  that's  so,"  flashed  Kells.  "You  don't  know 
Cleve.  He'll  kill  you.  He's  lightning  with  a  gun. 
Do  you  suppose  I'd  set  him  on  Gulden's  trail  if  I 
wasn't  sure?  Why,  I  wouldn't  care  to — " 

"Here  comes  Cleve,"  interrupted  Pearce,  sharply. 

Rapid  footsteps  sounded  without.  Then  Joan 
saw  Jim  Cleve  darken  the  doorway.  He  looked  keen 
and  bold.  Upon  sight  of  Joan  in  her  changed  attire 
he  gave  a  slight  start. 

"Budd,  here's  Cleve,"  called  out  Red  Pearce, 
mockingly.  "Now  say  it  to  his  face!" 

In  the  silence  that  ensued  Pearce's  spirit  dominated 
the  moment  with  its  cunning,  hate,  and  violence. 
But  Kells  savagely  leaped  in  front  of  the  men,  still 
master  of  the  situation. 

280 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

"Red,  what's  got  into  you?"  he  hissed.  "You're 
cross-grained  lately.  You're  sore.  Any  more  of  this 
and  I'll  swear  you're  a  disorganizer.  .  .  .  Now,  Budd, 
you  keep  your  mouth  shut.  And  you,  Cleve,  you 
pay  no  heed  to  Budd  if  he  does  gab.  .  .  .  We're  in  bad 
and  all  the  men  have  chips  on  their  shoulders. 
We've  got  to  stop  fighting  among  ourselves." 

"Wai,  boss,  there's  a  power  of  sense  in  a  good 
example,"  dryly  remarked  Bate  Wood.  His  remark 
calmed  Kells  and  eased  the  situation. 

"Jim,  did  you  meet  Gulden?"  queried  Kells, 
eagerly. 

"Can't  find  him  anywhere,"  replied  Cleve.  "I've 
loafed  in  the  saloons  and  gambling-hells  where  he 
hangs  out.  But  he  didn't  show  up.  He's  in  camp. 
I  know  that  for  a  fact.  He's  laying  low  for  some 
reason." 

"Gulden's  been  tipped  off,  Jim,"  said  Kells,  ear 
nestly.  "He  told  Bate  Wood  you  were  out  to  kill 
him." 

"I'm  glad.  It  wasn't  a  fair  hand  you  were  going 
to  deal  him,"  responded  Cleve.  "But  who  gave  my 
job  away?  Some  one  in  this  gang  wants  me  done 
for — more  than  Gulden." 

Cleve 's  flashing  gaze  swept  over  the  motionless 
men  and  fixed  hardest  upon  Red  Pearce.  Pearce 
gave  back  hard  look  for  hard  look. 

"Gulden  told  Oliver  more,"  continued  Kells,  and 
he  pulled  Cleve  around  to  face  him.  '  *  Gulden  swore 
he  saw  Creede  alive  last  night.  .  .  .  Late  last 
night!" 

"That's  funny,"  replied  Cleve,  without  the  flicker 
of  an  eyelash. 

281 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

"It's  not  funny.  But  it's  queer.  Gulden  hasn't 
the  moral  sense  to  lie.  Bate  says  he  wants  to  make 
trouble  between  you  and  me.  I  doubt  that.  I 
don't  believe  Gulden  could  see  a  ghost,  either.  He's 
simply  mistaken  some  miner  for  Creede." 

"He  sure  has,  unless  Creede  came  back  to  life. 
I'm  not  sitting  on  his  chest  now,  holding  him  down." 

Kells  drew  back,  manifestly  convinced  and  relieved. 
This  action  seemed  to  be  a  magnet  for  Pearce.  He 
detached  himself  from  the  group,  and,  approaching 
Kells,  tapped  him  significantly  on  the  shoulder;  and 
whether  by  design  or  accident  the  fact  was  that  he 
took  a  position  where  Kells  was  between  him  and 
Cleve. 

"Jack,  you're  being  double-crossed  here — an*  by 
more  'n  one,"  he  said,  deliberately.  "But  if  you 
want  me  to  talk  you've  got  to  guarantee  no  gun- 
play." 

"Speak  up,  Red,"  replied  Kells,  with  a  glinting 
eye.  "I  swear  there  won't  be  a  gun  pulled." 

The  other  men  shifted  from  one  foot  to  another 
and  there  were  deep-drawn  breaths.  Jim  Cieve 
alone  seemed  quiet  and  cool.  But  his  eyes  were 
ablaze. 

"Fust  off  an'  for  instance  here's  one  who's  double- 
crossin'  you,"  said  Pearce,  in  slow,  tantalizing  speech, 
as  if  he  wore  out  this  suspense  to  torture  Kells. 
And  without  ever  glancing  at  Joan  he  jerked  a 
thumb,  in  significant  gesture,  at  her. 

Joan  leaned  back  against  the  wall,  trembling  and 
cold  all  over.  She  read  Pearce's  mind.  He  knew 
her  secret  and  meant  to  betray  her  and  Jim.  He 
hated  Kells  and  wanted  to  torture  him.  If  only  she 

282 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

could  think  quickly  and  speak!  But  she  seemed 
dumb  and  powerless. 

"Pearce,  what  do  you  mean?'*  demanded  Kells. 

"The  girl's  double-crossin'  you,"  replied  Pearce. 
With  the  uttered  words  he  grew  pale  and  agitated. 

Suddenly  Kells  appeared  to  become  aware  of 
Joan's  presence  and  that  the  implication  was 
directed  toward  her.  Then,  many  and  remarkable 
as  had  been  the  changes  Joan  had  seen  come  over 
him,  now  occurred  one  wholly  greater.  It  had  all 
his  old  amiability,  his  cool,  easy  manner,  veiling  a 
deep  and  hidden  ruthlessness,  terrible  in  contrast. 

"Red,  I  thought  our  talk  concerned  men  and  gold 
and — things,"  he  said,  with  a  cool,  slow  softness  that 
had  a  sting,  "but  since  you've  nerve  enough  or  are 
crazy  enough  to  speak  of — her — why,  explain  your 
meaning." 

Pearce's  jaw  worked  so  that  he  could  scarcely  talk. 
He  had  gone  too  far — realized  it  too  late. 

"She  meets  a  man — back  there — at  her  window," 
he  panted.  "They  whisper  in  the  dark  for  hours. 
I've  watched  an'  heard  them.  An'  I'd  told  you 
before,  but  I  wanted  to  make  sure  who  he  was.  .  .  . 
I  know  him  now!  .  .  .  An'  remember  I  seen  him 
climb  in  an'  out — " 

Kells7 s  whole  frame  leaped.  His  gun  was  a 
flash  of  blue  and  red  and  white  all  together.  Pearce 
swayed  upright,  like  a  tree  chopped  at  the  roots, 
and  then  fell,  face  up,  eyes  set — dead.  The  bandit 
leader  stood  over  him  with  the  smoking  gun. 

"My  Gawd,  Jack!"  gasped  Handy  Oliver.  "You 
swore  no  one  would  pull  a  gun — an'  here  you've 
killed  him  yourself!  .  .  .  You've  double-crossed  your- 
19  283 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

self!  An'  if  I  die  for  it  I've  got  to  tell  you  Red 
wasn't  lyin'  then!" 

Kells's  radiance  fled,  leaving  him  ghastly.  He 
stared  at  Oliver. 

"You've  double-crossed  yourself  an'  your  pards," 
went  on  Oliver,  pathetically.  "What's  your  word 
amount  to?  Do  you  expect  the  gang  to  stand  for 
this  ? .  . .  There  lays  Red  Pearce  dead.  An'  for  what  ? 
Jest  once — relyin'  on  your  oath — he  speaks  out  what 
might  have  showed  you.  An'  you  kill  him!  ...  If  I 
knowed  what  he  knowed  I'd  tell  you  now  with  thet 
gun  in  your  hand !  But  I  don't  know.  Only  I  know 
he  wasn't  lyin'.  .  .  .  Ask  the  girl!  .  .  .  An'  as  for  me, 
I  reckon  I'm  through  with  you  an'  your  Legion. 
You're  done,  Kells — your  head's  gone — you've  broke 
over  thet  slip  of  a  woman!" 

Oliver  spoke  with  a  rude  and  impressive  dignity. 
When  he  ended  he  strode  out  into  the  sunlight. 

Kells  was  shaken  by  this  forceful-  speech,  yet  he 
was  not  in  any  sense  a  broken  man.  "Joan — you 
heard  Pearce,"  said  he,  passionately.  "He  lied 
about  you.  I  had  to  kill  him.  He  hinted —  Oh, 
the  low-lived  dog!  He  could  not  know  a  good 
woman.  He  lied — and  there  he  is — dead  I  I  wouldn't 
fetch  him  back  for  a  hundred  Legions!" 

"But  it — it  wasn't — all — a  lie,"  said  Joan,  and  her 
words  came  haltingly  because  a  force  stronger  than 
her  cunning  made  her  speak.  She  had  reached  a 
point  where  she  could  not  deceive  Kells  to  save  her 
life. 

"WHAT!"  he  thundered. 

"Pearce  told  the  truth — except  that  no  one  ever 
climbed  in  my  window.  That's  false.  No  one 

284 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

could  climb  in.     It's  too  small.  .  .  .  But  I  did  whisper 
— to  some  one." 

Kells  had  to  moisten  his  lips  to  speak.    "Who?" 

"I'll  never  tell  you." 

"Who?.  ...I '11  kill  him!" 

"No — no.  I  won't  tell.  I  won't  let  you  kill 
another  man  on  my  account." 

"I'll  choke  it  out  of  you." 

"You  can't.  There's  no  use  to  threaten  me,  or 
hurt  me,  either." 

Kells  seemed  dazed.  ' '  Whisper !  For  hours !  In 
the  dark!  .  .  ,  But,  Joan,  what  for?  Why  such  a 
risk?" 

Joan  shook  her  head. 

"Were  you  just  unhappy — lonesome?  Did  some 
young  miner  happen  to  see  you  there  in  daylight — 
then  come  at  night?  Wasn't  it  only  accident? 
Tell  me." 

"I  won't — and  I  won't  because  I  don't  want  you 
to  spill  more  blood." 

"For  my  sake?"  he  queried,  with  the  old,  mocking 
tone.  Then  he  grew  dark  with  the  blood  in  his  face, 
fierce  with  action  of  hands  and  body  as  he  bent  nearer 
her.  "Maybe  you  like  him  too  well  to  see  him 
shot?  .  .  .  Did  you — whisper  often  to  this  stranger?" 

Joan  felt  herself  weakening.  Keils  was  so  power 
ful  in  spirit  and  passion  that  she  seemed  unable  to 
fight  him.  She  strove  to  withhold  her  reply,  but  it 
burst  forth,  involuntarily. 

"Yes— often." 

That  roused  more  than  anger  and  passion.  Jeal 
ousy  flamed  from  him  and  it  transformed  him  into  a 
devil. 

285 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

"You  held  hands  out  of  that  window — and 
kissed — in  the  dark?"  he  cried,  with  working  lips. 

Joan  had  thought  of  this  so  fearfully  and  in 
tensely — she  had  battled  so  to  fortify  herself  to 
keep  it  secret — that  he  had  divined  it,  had  read  her 
mind.  She  could  not  control  herself.  The  murder 
of  Pearce  had  almost  overwhelmed  her.  She  had 
not  the  strength  to  bite  her  tongue.  Suggestion 
alone  would  have  drawn  her  then — and  Kells's  pas 
sionate  force  was  hypnotic. 

"Yes,"  she  whispered. 

He  appeared  to  control  a  developing  paroxysm  of 
rage. 

"That  settles  you,"  he  declared,  darkly.  "But 
I'll  do  one  more  decent  thing  by  you.  I'll  marry 
you."  Then  he  wheeled  to  his  men.  "Blicky, 
there's  a  parson  down  in  camp.  Go  on  the  run. 
Fetch  him  back  if  you  have  to  push  him  with 
a  gun." 

Blicky  darted  through  the  door  and  his  foot 
steps  thudded  out  of  hearing. 

"You  can't  force  me  to  marry  you,"  said  Joan, 
"I — I  won't  open  my  lips." 

"That's  your  affair.  I've  no  mind  to  coax  you," 
he  replied,  bitterly.  "But  if  you  don't  I'll  try 
Gulden's  way  with  a  woman.  .  .  .  You  remember. 
Gulden's  way!  A  cave  and  a  rope!" 

Joan's  legs  gave  out  under  her  and  she  sank  upon 
a  pile  of  blankets.  Then  beyond  Kells  she  saw 
Jim  Cleve.  With  all  that  was  left  of  her  spirit  she 
flashed  him  a  warning — a  meaning — a  prayer  not  to 
do  the  deed  she  divined  was  his  deadly  intent.  He 
caught  it  and  obeyed.  And  he  flashed  back  a 

286 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

glance  which  meant  that,  desperate  as  her  case  was, 
it  could  never  be  what  Kells  threatened. 

"Men,  see  me  through  this,"  said  Kells  to  the 
silent  group.  "Then  any  deal  you  want — I'm  on. 
Stay  here  or — sack  the  camp!  Hold  up  the  stage 
express  with  gold  for  Bannack!  Anything  for  a  big 
stake!  Then  the  trail  and  the  border." 

He  began  pacing  the  floor.  Budd  and  Smith 
strolled  outside.  Bate  Wood  fumbled  in  his  pockets 
for  pipe  and  tobacco.  Cleve  sat  down  at  the  table 
and  leaned  on  his  hands.  No  one  took  notice  of  the 
dead  Pearce.  Here  was  somber  and  terrible  sign 
of  the  wildness  of  the  border  clan — that  Kells 
could  send  out  for  a  parson  to  marry  him  to  a  woman 
he  hopelessly  loved,  there  in  the  presence  of  murder 
and  death,  with  Pearce's  distorted  face  upturned 
in  stark  and  ghastly  significance. 

It  might  have  been  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  though 
to  Joan  it  seemed  an  endless  time,  until  foot 
steps  and  voices  outside  announced  the  return  of 
Blicky. 

He  held  by  the  arm  a  slight  man  whom  he  was 
urging  along  with  no  gentle  force.  This  stranger's 
face  presented  as  great  a  contrast  to  Blicky's  as 
could  have  been  imagined.  His  apparel  proclaimed 
his  calling.  There  were  consternation  and  bewilder 
ment  in  his  expression,  but  very  little  fear. 

"He  was  preachin'  down  there  in  a  tent,"  said 
Blicky,  "an'  I  jest  waltzed  him  up  without  ex- 
plainin'." 

"Sir,  I  want  to  be  married  at  once,"  declared 
Kells,  peremptorily. 

287 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

"Certainly.  I'm  at  your  service,"  replied  the 
preacher.  "But  I  deplore  the — the  manner  in 
which  I've  been  approached." 

"You'll  excuse  haste,"  rejoined  the  bandit.  "I'll 
pay  you  well."  Kells  threw  a  small  buckskin  sack 
of  gold-dust  upon  the  table,  and  then  he  turned  to 
Joan.  "Come,  Joan,"  he  said,  in  the  tone  that 
brooked  neither  resistance  nor  delay. 

It  was  at  that  moment  that  the  preacher  first 
noticed  Joan.  Was  her  costume  accountable  for  his 
start?  Joan  had  remembered  his  voice  and  she 
wondered  if  he  would  remember  hers.  Certainly 
Jim  had  called  her  Joan  more  than  once  on  the  night 
of  the  marriage.  The  preacher's  mild  eyes  grew 
keener.  He  glanced  from  Joan  to  Kells,  and  then  at 
the  other  men,  who  had  come  in.  Jim  Cleve  stood 
behind  Jesse  Smith's  broad  person,  and  evidently 
the  preacher  did  not  see  him.  That  curious  gaze, 
however,  next  discovered  the  dead  man  on  the  floor. 
Then  to  the  curiosity  and  anxiety  upon  the  preach 
er's  face  was  added  horror. 

"A  minister  of  God  is  needed  here,  but  riot 
in  the  capacity  you  name,"  he  said.  "I'll  per 
form  no  marriage  ceremony  in  the  presence  of — 
murder." 

"Mr.  Preacher,  you'll  marry  me  quick  or  you'll 
go  along  with  him,"  replied  Kells,  deliberately. 

"I  cannot  be  forced."  The  preacher  still  main 
tained  some  dignity,  but  he  had  grown  pale. 

"I  can  force  you.  Get  ready  now! .  .  .  Joan,  come 
here!" 

Kells  spoke  sternly,  yet  something  of  the  old, 
self -mocking  spirit  was  in  his  tone.  His  intelligence 

288 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

was  deriding  the  flesh  and  blood  of  him,  the  beast,  the 
fool.  It  spoke  that  he  would  have  his  way  and  that 
the  choice  was  fatal  for  him. 

Joan  shook  her  head.  In  one  stride  Kells  reached 
her  and  swung  her  spinning  before  him.  The 
physical  violence  acted  strangely  upon  Joan — 
roused  her  rage. 

"I  wouldn't  marry  you  to  save  my  life — even  if  I 
could!"  she  burst  out. 

At  her  declaration  the  preacher  gave  a  start  that 
must  have  been  suspicion  or  confirmation,  or  both. 
He  bent  low  to  peer  into  the  face  of  the  dead  Pearce. 
When  he  arose  he  was  shaking  his  head.  Evidently 
he  had  decided  that  Pearce  was  not  the  man  to  whom 
he  had  married  Joan. 

"Please  remove  your  mask,"  he  said  to  Joan. 

She  did  so,  swiftly,  without  a  tremor.  The 
preacher  peered  into  her  face  again,  as  he  had  upon 
the  night  he  had  married  her  to  Jim.  He  faced 
Kells  again. 

"I  am  beyond  your  threats,"  he  said,  now  with 
calmness.  "I  can't  marry  you  to  a  woman  who 
already  has  a  husband.  ...  But  I  don't  see  that 
husband  here." 

"You  don't  see  that  husband  here!"  echoed  the 
bewildered  Kells.  He  stared  with  open  mouth. 
"Say,  have  you  got  a  screw  loose?" 

The  preacher,  in  his  swift  glance,  had  apparently 
not  observed  the  half-hidden  Cleve.  Certainly  it 
appeared  now  that  he  would  have  no  attention  for 
any  other  than  Kells.  The  bandit  was  a  study. 
His  astonishment  was  terrific  and  held  him  like  a 
chain.  Suddenly  he  lurched. 

289 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

"What  did  you  say?"  he  roared,  his  face  flam 
ing. 

"I  can't  marry  you  to  a  woman  who  already  has 
a  husband." 

Swift  as  light  the  red  flashed  out  of  Kells's  face. 
"Did  you  ever  see  her  before?"  he  asked. 

"Yes,"  replied  the  preacher. 

"Where  and  when?" 

"Here — at  the  back  of  this  cabin — a  few  nights 
ago." 

It  hurt  Joan  to  look  at  Kells  now,  yet  he  seemed 
wonderful  to  behold.  She  felt  as  guilty  as  if  she  had 
really  been  false  to  him.  Her  heart  labored  high  in 
her  breast.  This  was  the  climax — the  moment  of 
catastrophe.  Another  word  and  Jim  Cleve  would 
be  facing  Kells.  The  blood  pressure  in  Joan's 
throat  almost  strangled  her. 

"At  the  back  of  this  cabin!  ...  At  her  window?" 

"Yes." 

"What  were  you  there  for?" 

"In  my  capacity  as  minister.  I  was  summoned 
to  marry  her." 

"To  marry  her?"  gasped  Kells. 

"Yes.  She  is  Joan  Randle,  from  Hoadley,  Idaho. 
She  is  over  eighteen.  I  understood  she  was  detained 
here  against  her  will.  She  loved  an  honest  young 
miner  of  the  camp.  He  brought  me  up  here  one 
night.  And  I  married  them." 

' '  You — married — them!" 

"Yes." 

Kells  was  slow  in  assimilating  the  truth  and  his 
action  corresponded  with  his  mind.  Slowly  his 
hand  moved  toward  his  gun.  He  drew  it,  threw  it 

290 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

aloft.  And  then  all  the  terrible  evil  of  the  man 
flamed  forth.  But  as  he  deliberately  drew  down  on 
the  preacher  Blicky  leaped  forward  and  knocked  up 
the  gun.  Flash  and  report  followed;  the  discharge 
went  into  the  roof.  Blicky  grasped  Kells's  arm  and 
threw  his  weight  upon  it  to  keep  it  down. 

"I  fetched  thet  parson  here,"  he  yelled,  "an'  you 
ain't  a-goin'  to  kill  him !  .  .  .  Help,  Jesse !  .  .  .  He's 
crazy!  He'll  do  it!" 

Jesse  Smith  ran  to  Blicky's  aid  and  tore  the  gun 
out  of  Kells's  hand.  Jim  Cleve  grasped  the  preacher 
by  the  shoulders  and,  whirling  him  around,  sent  him 
flying  out  of  the  door. 

"Run  for  your  life!"  he  shouted. 

Blicky  and  Jesse  Smith  were  trying  to  hold  the 
lunging  Kells. 

"Jim,  you  block  the  door,"  called  Jesse.  "Bate, 
you  grab  any  loose  guns  an'  knives.  .  .  .  Now,  boss, 
rant  an'  be  damned!" 

They  released  Kells  and  backed  away,  leaving  him 
the  room.  Joan's  limbs  seemed  unable  to  execute 
her  will. 

"Joan!  It's  true!"  he  exclaimed,  with  whistling 
breath. 

"Yes." 

"Who?"  he  bellowed. 

"I'll  never  tell." 

He  reached  for  her  with  hands  like  claws,  as  if  he 
meant  to  tear  her,  rend  her.  Joan  was  helpless, 
weak,  terrified.  Those  shaking,  clutching  hands 
reached  for  her  throat  and  yet  never  closed  round  it. 
Kells  wanted  to  kill  her,  but  he  could  not.  He 
le  >med  over  her,  dark,  speechless,  locked  in  his 

291 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

paroxysm  of  rage.  Perhaps  then  came  a  realization 
of  ruin  through  her.  He  hated  her  because  he 
loved  her.  He  wanted  to  kill  her  because  of  that 
hate,  yet  he  could  not  harm  her,  even  hurt  her. 
And  his  soul  seemed  in  conflict  with  two  giants — the 
evil  in  him  that  was  hate,  and  the  love  that  was  good. 

Suddenly  he  flung  her  aside.  She  stumbled  over 
Pearce's  body,  almost  falling,  and  staggered  back  to 
the  wall.  Kells  had  the  center  of  the  room  to  him 
self.  Like  a  mad  steer  in  a  corral  he  gazed  about, 
stupidly  seeking  some  way  to  escape.  But  the 
escape  Kells  longed  for  was  from  himself.  Then 
either  he  let  himself  go  or  was  unable  longer  to  con 
trol  his  rage.  He  began  to  plunge  around.  His 
actions  were  violent,  random,  half  insane.  He 
seemed  to  want  to  destroy  himself  and  everything. 
But  the  weapons  were  guarded  by  his  men  and  the 
room  contained  little  he  could  smash.  There  was 
something  magnificent  in  his  fury,  yet  childish  and 
absurd.  Even  under  its  influence  and  his  abandon 
ment  he  showed  a  consciousness  of  its  futility.  In  a 
few  moments  the  inside  of  the  cabin  was  in  disorder 
and  Kells  seemed  a  disheveled,  sweating,  panting 
wretch.  The  rapidity  and  violence  of  his  action, 
coupled  with  his  fury,  soon  exhausted  him.  He  fell 
from  plunging  here  and  there  to  pacing  the  floor. 
And  even  the  dignity  of  passion  passed  from  him. 
He  looked  a  hopeless,  beaten,  stricken  man,  conscious 
of  defeat. 

Jesse  Smith  approached  the  bandit  leader.  ' '  Jack, 
here's  your  gun,"  he  said.  "I  only  took  it  because 
you  was  out  of  your  head.  .  .  .  An'  listen,  boss. 
There's  a  few  of  us  left." 

292 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

That  was  Smith's  expression  of  fidelity,  and  Kells 
received  it  with  a  pallid,  grateful  smile. 

"Bate,  you  an'  Jim  clean  up  this  mess,"  went  on 
Smith.  ''An',  Blicky,  come  here  an'  help  me  with 
Pearce.  We'll  have  to  plant  him." 

The  stir  begun  by  the  men  was  broken  by  a  sharp 
exclamation  from  Cleve. 

"Kells,  here  comes  Gulden — Beady  Jones,  Will 
iams,  Beard!" 

The  bandit  raised  his  head  and  paced  back  to 
where  he  could  look  out. 

Bate  Wood  made  a  violent  and  significant  gesture. 
"Somethin'  wrong,"  he  said,  hurriedly.  "An' 
it's  more  'n  to  do  with  Gul!  .  .  .  Look  down  the  road. 
See  thet  gang.  All  excited  an'  wavin'  hands  an' 
runnin'.  But  they're  goin'  down  into  camp." 

Jesse  Smith  turned  a  gray  face  toward  Kells. 
"Boss,  there's  hell  to  pay!  I've  seen  thet  kind  of 
excitement  before." 

Kells  thrust  the  men  aside  and  looked  out.  He 
seemed  to  draw  upon  a  reserve  strength,  for  he  grew 
composed  even  while  he  gazed.  "Jim,  get  in  the 
other  room,"  he  ordered,  sharply.  "Joan — you  go, 
too.  Keep  still." 

Joan  hurried  to  comply.  Jim  entered  after  her 
and  closed  the  door.  Instinctively  they  clasped 
hands,  drew  close  together. 

"Jim,  what  does  it  mean?"  she  whispered,  fear 
fully.  "Gulden!" 

"He  must  be  looking  for  me,"  replied  Jim.  "But 
there's  more  doing.  Did  you  see  that  crowd  down 
the  road?" 

"No.     I  couldn't  see  out." 
293 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

"  Listen." 

Heavy  tramp  of  boots  sounded  without.  Silently 
Joan  led  Jim  to  the  crack  between  the  boards 
through  which  she  had  spied  upon  the  bandits. 
Jim  peeped  through,  and  Joan  saw  his  hand  go  to  his 
gun.  Then  she  looked. 

Gulden  was  being  crowded  into  the  cabin  by 
fierce,  bulging-jawed  men  who  meant  some  kind  of 
dark  business.  The  strangest  thing  about  that 
entrance  was  its  silence.  In  a  moment  they  were 
inside,  confronting  Kells  with  his  little  group. 
Beard,  Jones,  Williams,  former  faithful  allies  of 
Kells,  showed  a  malignant  opposition.  And  the 
huge  Gulden  resembled  an  enraged  gorilla.  For  an 
instant  his  great,  pale,  cavernous  eyes  glared.  He 
had  one  hand  under  his  coat  and  his  position  had  a 
sinister  suggestion.  But  Kells  stood  cool  and  sure. 
When  Gulden  moved  Kells's  gun  was  leaping  forth. 
But  he  withheld  his  fire,  for  Gulden  had  only  a 
heavy  round  object  wrapped  in  a  handkerchief. 

"Look  there!"  he  boomed,  and  he  threw  the  object 
on  the  table. 

The  dull,  heavy,  sodden  thump  had  a  familiar 
ring.  Joan  heard  Jim  gasp  and  his  hand  tightened 
spasmodically  upon  hers. 

Slowly  the  ends  of  the  red  scarf  slid  down  to  re 
veal  an  irregularly  round,  glinting  lump.  When 
Joan  recognized  it  her  heart  seemed  to  burst. 

"Jim  Cleve's  nugget !"  ejaculated  Kells.  " Where'd 
you  get  that?" 

Gulden  leaned  across  the  table,  his  massive  jaw 
working.  "I  found  it  on  the  miner  Creede,"  replied 
the  giant,  stridently. 

294 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

Then  came  a  nervous  shuffling  of  boots  on  the 
creaky  boards.  In  the  silence  a  low,  dull  murmur 
of  distant  voices  could  be  heard,  strangely  menacing. 
Kells  stood  transfixed,  white  as  a  sheet. 

"On  Creede!" 

"Yes." 

"Where  was  his — his  body?" 

"I  left  it  out  on  the  Bannack  trail." 

The  bandit  leader  appeared  mute. 

"Kells,  I  followed  Creede  out  of  camp  last  night!" 
fiercely  declared  Gulden.  ...  "I  killed  him!  ...  I 
found  this  nugget  on  him!" 


CHAPTER  XVII 

APPARENTLY  to  Kells  that  nugget  did  not 
-*»•  accuse  Jim  Cleve  of  treachery.  Not  only  did 
this  possibility  seem  lost  upon  the  bandit  leader, 
but  also  the  sinister  intent  of  Gulden  and  his  as 
sociates. 

"Then  Jim  didn't  kill  Creede!"  cried  Kells. 

A  strange  light  flashed  across  his  face.  It  fitted 
the  note  of  gladness  in  his  exclamation.  How  strange 
that  in  his  amaze  there  should  be  relief  instead  of 
suspicion !  Joan  thought  she  understood  Kells.  He 
was  glad  that  he  had  not  yet  made  a  murderer  out  of 
Cleve. 

Gulden  appeared  slow  in  rejoining.  "I  told  you 
I  got  Creede,"  he  said.  "And  we  want  to  know  if 
this  says  to  you  what  it  says  to  us." 

His  huge,  hairy  hand  tapped  the  nugget.  Then 
Kells  caught  the  implication. 

"What  does  it  say  to  you?"  he  queried,  coolly, 
and  he  eyed  Gulden  and  then  the  grim  men  be 
hind  him. 

"Somebody  in  the  gang  is  crooked.  Somebody's 
giving  you  the  double-cross.  We've  known  that  for 
long.  Jim  Cleve  goes  out  to  kill  Creede.  He  comes 
in  with  Creede's  gold-belt — and  a  lie!  ...  We  think 
Cleve  is  the  crooked  one." 

296 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

"No!  You're  way  off,  Gulden,"  replied  Kells, 
earnestly.  "That  boy  is  absolutely  square.  He's 
lied  to  me  about  Creede.  But  I  can  excuse  that. 
He  lost  his  nerve.  He's  only  a  youngster.  To 
knife  a  man  in  his  sleep — that  was  too  much  for 
Jim!  .  .  .  And  I'm  glad!  I  see  it  all  now.  Jim's 
swapped  his  big  nugget  for  Creede 's  belt.  And  in  the 
bargain  he  exacted  that  Creede  hit  the  trail  out  of 
camp.  You  happened  to  see  Creede  and  went  after 
him  yourself.  .  .  .  Well,  I  don't  see  where  you've  any 
kick  coming.  For  you've  ten  times  the  money  in 
Cleve's  nugget  that  there  was  in  a  share  of  Creed e's 
gold." 

"That's  not  my  kick,"  declared  Gulden.  "What 
you  say  about  Cleve  may  be  true.  But  I  don't  be 
lieve  it.  And  the  gang  is  sore.  Things  have  leaked 
out.  We're  watched.  We're  not  welcome  in  the 
gambling-places  any  more.  Last  night  I  was  not 
allowed  to  sit  in  the  game  at  Belcher's." 

"You  think  Cleve  has  squealed?"  queried  Kells.' 

"Yes." 

"I'll  bet  you  every  ounce  of  dust  I've  got  that 
you're  wrong,"  declared  Kells.  "A  straight,  square 
bet  against  anything  you  want  to  put  up!" 

Kells's  ringing  voice  was  nothing  if  not  convin 
cing. 

"Appearances  are  against  Cleve,"  growled  Gulden, 
dubiously.  Always  he  had  been  swayed  by  the 
stronger  mind  of  the  leader. 

"Sure  they  are,"  agreed  Kells. 

"Then  what  do  you  base  your  confidence  on?" 
^  "Just  my  knowledge  of  men.     Jim  Cleve  wouldn't 
squeal.  .  .  .  Gulden,  did  anybody  tell  you  that?" 

297 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

' '  Yes, ' '  replied  Gulden,  slowly.     ' '  Red  Pearce. ' ' 

"Pearce  was  a  liar,"  said  Kells,  bitterly.  "I  shot 
him  for  lying  to  me." 

Gulden  stared.  His  men  muttered  and  gazed  at 
one  another  and  around  the  cabin. 

"Pearce  told  me  you  set  Cleve  to  kill  me,"  sud 
denly  spoke  up  the  giant. 

If  he  expected  to  surprise  Kells  he  utterly  failed. 

"That's  another  and  bigger  lie,"  replied  the  ban 
dit  leader,  disgustedly.  "Gulden,  do  you  think  my 
mind's  gone?" 

"Not  quite,"  replied  Gulden,  and  he  seemed  as 
near  a  laugh  as  was  possible  for  him. 

"Well,  I've  enough  mind  left  not  to  set  a  boy  to 
kill  such  a  man  as  you." 

Gulden  might  have  been  susceptible  to  flattery. 
He  turned  to  his  men.  They,  too,  had  felt  Kells's 
subtle  influence.  They  were  ready  to  veer  round  like 
weather-vanes. 

"Red  Pearce  has  cashed,  an'  he  can't  talk  for  him 
self,"  said  Beady  Jones,  as  if  answering  to  the  un 
spoken  thought  of  all. 

"Men,  between  you  and  me,  I  had  more  queer 
notions  about  Pearce  than  Cleve,"  announced  Gul 
den,  gruffly.  "But  I  never  said  so  because  I  had  no 
proof." 

"Red  shore  was  sore  an'  strange  lately,"  added 
Chick  Williams.  "Me  an'  him  were  pretty  thick 
onct — but  not  lately." 

The  giant  Gulden  scratched  his  head  and  swore. 
Probably  he  had  no  sense  of  justice  and  was  merely 
puzzled. 

"We're  wastin'  a  lot  of  time,"  put  in  Beard, 

298 


THE    BORDER   LEGION 

anxiously.  "  Don't  fergit  there's  somethin'  comin' 
off  down  in  camp,  an'  we  ain't  sure  what." 

"Bah!  Haven't  we  heard  whispers  of  vigilantes 
for  a  week?"  queried  Gulden. 

Then  some  one  of  the  men  looked  out  of  the  door 
and  suddenly  whistled. 

"Who's  thet  on  a  hoss?" 

Gulden's  gang  crowded  to  the  door. 

" Thet 's  Handy  Oliver." 

"No!" 

"Shore  is.  I  know  him.  But  it  ain't  his  hoss. 
.  .  .  Say,  he's  hurryin'." 

Low  exclamations  of  surprise  and  curiosity  fol 
lowed.  Kells  and  his  men  looked  attentively,  but 
no  one  spoke.  The  clatter  of  hoofs  on  the  stony  road 
told  of  a  horse  swiftly  approaching — pounding  to  a 
halt  before  the  cabin. 

"Handy!  .  .  .  Air  you  chased?  .  .  .  What's  wrong? 
.  .  .  You  shore  look  pale  round  the  gills."  These  and 
other  remarks  were  flung  out  the  door. 

"Where's  Kells?  Let  me  in,"  replied  Oliver, 
hoarsely. 

The  crowd  jostled  and  split  to  admit  the  long,  lean 
Oliver.  He  stalked  straight  toward  Kells,  till  the 
table  alone  stood  between  them.  He  was  gray  of 
face,  breathing  hard,  resolute  and  stern. 

"Kells,  I  throwed — you — down!"  he  said,  with 
outstretched  hand.  It  was  a  gesture  of  self-con 
demnation  and  remorse. 

"What  of  that?"  demanded  Kells,  with  his  head 
leaping  like  the  strike  of  an  eagle. 

"I'm  takin'  it  back!" 

Kells  met  the  outstretched  hand  with  his  own  and 

20  299 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

wrung  it.     "Handy,   I  never  knew  you  to  right 
about-face.     But  I'm  glad.  .  .  .  What's  changed  you 
so  quickly?" 
"Vigilantes!" 

Kells's  animation  and  eagerness  suddenly  froze. 
"Vigilantes!"  he  ground  out. 

"No  rumor,  Kells,  this  time.  I've  sure  some 
news.  .  .  .  Come  close,  all  you  fellows.  You,  Gulden, 
come  an'  listen.  Here's  where  we  git  together 
closer  'n  ever." 

Gulden  surged  forward  with  his  group.  Handy 
Oliver  was  surrounded  by  pale,  tight  faces,  dark- 
browed  and  hard-eyed. 

He  gazed  at  them,  preparing  them  for  a  startling 
revelation.  "Men,  of  all  the  white-livered  traitors 
as  ever  was  Red  Pearce  was  the  worst!"  he  declared, 
hoarsely. 

No  one  moved  or  spoke. 

"An'  he  was  a  vigilante!" 

A  low,  strange  sound,  almost  a  roar,  breathed 
through  the  group. 

"Listen  now  an'  don't  interrupt.  We  'ain't  got  a 
lot  of  time.  ...  So  never  mind  how  I  happened  to 
find  out  about  Pearce.  It  was  all  accident,  an' 
jest  because  I  put  two  an'  two  together.  .  .  .  Pearce 
was  approached  by  one  of  this  secret  vigilante  band, 
an'  he  planned  to  sell  the  Border  Legion  outright. 
There  was  to  be  a  big  stake  in  it  for  him.  He  held 
off  day  after  day,  only  tippin'  off  some  of  the  gang. 
There's  Dartt  an'  Singleton  an'  Frenchy  an'  Texas 
all  caught  red-handed  at  jobs.  Pearce  put  the 
vigilantes  to  watchin'  them  jest  to  prove  his  claim. 
.  .  .  Aw!  I've  got  the  proofs!  Jest  wait.  Listen 

300 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

to  me!  .  .  .  You  all  never  in  your  lives  seen  a  snake 
like  Red  Pearce.  An'  the  job  he  had  put  up  on  us 
was  grand.  To-day  he  was  to  squeal  on  the  whole 
gang.  You  know  how  he  began  on  Kells — an'  how 
with  his  oily  tongue  he  asked  a  guarantee  of  no  gun 
play.  But  he  figgered  Kells  wrong  for  once.  He 
accused  Kells's  girl  an'  got  killed  for  his  pains. 
Mebbe  it  was  part  of  his  plan  to  git  the  girl  himself. 
Anyway,  he  had  agreed  to  betray  the  Border  Legion 
to-day.  An'  if  he  hadn't  been  killed  by  this  time 
we'd  all  be  tied  up,  ready  for  the  noose !  .  .  .  Mebbe 
thet  wasn't  a  lucky  shot  of  the  boss's.  Men,  I  was 
the  first  to  declare  myself  against  Kells,  an'  I'm 
here  now  to  say  thet  I  was  a  fool.  So  you've  all 
been  fools  who've  bucked  against  him.  If  this  ain't 
provin'  it,  what  can? 

"But  I  must  hustle  with  my  story.  .  .  .  They  was 
havin'  a  trial  down  at  the  big  hall,  an'  thet  place  was 
sure  packed.  No  diggin'  gold  to-day!  .  .  .  Think 
of  what  thet  means  for  Alder  Creek.  I  got  inside 
where  I  could  stand  on  a  barrel  an'  see.  Dartt  an' 
Singleton  an'  Frenchy  an'  Texas  was  bein'  tried  by 
a  masked  court.  A  man  near  me  said  two  of  them 
had  been  proved  guilty.  It  didn't  take  long  to  make 
out  a  case  against  Texas  an'  Frenchy.  Miners 
there  recognized  them  an'  identified  them.  They 
was  convicted  an'  sentenced  to  be  hung!  .  .  .  Then 
the  offer  was  made  to  let  them  go  free  out  of  the 
border  if  they'd  turn  state's  evidence  an'  give  away 
the  leader  an'  men  of  the  Border  Legion.  Thet  was 
put  up  to  each  prisoner.  Dartt  he  never  answered 
at  all.  An'  Singleton  told  them  to  go  to  hell.  An' 
Texas  he  swore  he  was  only  a  common  an'  honest 

301 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

road-agent,  an'  never  heard  of  the  Legion.  But 
thet  Frenchman  showed  a  yellow  streak.  He  might 
have  taken  the  offer.  But  Texas  cussed  him  tur- 
rible,  an'  made  him  ashamed  to  talk.  But  if  they 
git  Frenchy  away  from  Texas  they'll  make  him  blab. 
He's  like  a  greaser.  Then  there  was  a  delay.  The 
big  crowd  of  miners  yelled  for  ropes.  But  the 
vigilantes  are  waitin',  an'  it's  my  hunch  they're 
wait  in'  for  Pearce." 

"So!  And  where  do  we  stand?"  cried  Kells,  clear 
and  cold. 

"We're  not  spotted  yet,  thet's  certain,"  replied 
Oliver,  "else  them  masked  vigilantes  would  have 
been  on  the  job  before  now.  But  it's  not  sense  to 
figger  we  can  risk  another  day.  ...  I  reckon  it's 
hit  the  trail  back  to  Cabin  Gulch." 

"Gulden,  what  do  you  say?"  queried  Kells, 
sharply. 

"I'll  go  or  stay — whatever  you  want,"  replied  the 
giant.  In  this  crisis  he  seemed  to  be  glad  to  have 
Kells  decide  the  issue.  And  his  followers  resembled 
sheep  ready  to  plunge  after  the  leader. 

But  though  Kells,  by  a  strange  stroke,  had  been 
made  wholly  master  of  the  Legion,  he  did  not  show 
the  old  elation  or  radiance.  Perhaps  he  saw  more 
clearly  than  ever  before.  Still  he  was  quick,  de-. 
cisive,  strong,  equal  to  the  occasion. 

"Listen — all  of  you,"  he  said.  "Our  horses  and 
outfits  are  hidden  in  a  gulch  several  miles  below 
camp.  We've  got  to  go  that  way.  We  can't  pack 
any  grub  or  stuff  from  here.  We'll  risk  going  through 
camp.  Now  leave  here  two  or  three  at  a  time,  and 
wait  down  there  on  the  edge  of  the  crowd  for  me. 

302 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

When  I  come  we'll  stick  together.  Then  all  do  as  I 
do." 

Gulden  put  the  nugget  under  his  coat  and  strode 
out,  accompanied  by  Budd  and  Jones.  They  hur 
ried  away.  The  others  went  in  couples.  Soon  only 
Bate  Wood  and  Handy  Oliver  were  left  with  Kells. 

"Now  you  fellows  go,"  said  Kells.  "Be  sure  to 
round  up  the  gang  down  there  and  wait  for  me." 

When  they  had  gone  he  called  for  Jim  and  Joan 
to  come  out. 

All  this  time  Joan's  hand  had  been  gripped  in 
Jim's,  and  Joan  had  been  so  absorbed  that  she  had 
forgotten  the  fact.  He  released  her  and  faced  her, 
silent,  pale.  Then  he  went  out.  Joan  swiftly 
followed. 

Kells  was  buckling  on  his  spurs.  "You  heard?" 
he  said,  the  moment  he  saw  Jim's  face. 

"Yes,"  replied  Jim. 

"So  much  the  better.  We've  got  to  rustle.  .  .  . 
Joan,  put  on  that  long  coat  of  Cleve's.  Take  off 
your  mask.  .  .  .  Jim,  get  what  gold  you  have,  and 
hurry.  If  we're  gone  when  you  come  back  hurry- 
down  the  road.  I  want  you  with  me." 

Cleve  stalked  out,  and  Joan  ran  into  her  room 
and  put  on  the  long  coat.  She  had  little  time  to 
choose  what  possessions  she  could  take;  and  that 
choice  fell  upon  the  little  saddle-bag,  into  which  she 
hurriedly  stuffed  comb  and  brush  and  soap — all  it 
would  hold.  Then  she  returned  to  the  larger  room. 

Kells  had  lifted  a  plank  of  the  floor,  and  was  now 
in  the  act  of  putting  small  buckskin  sacks  of  gold  into 
his  pockets.  They  made  his  coat  bulge  at  the  sides. 

303 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

"Joan,  stick  some  meat  and  biscuits  in  your 
pockets,"  he  said.  "I'd  never  get  hungry  with  my 
pockets  full  of  gold.  But  you  might." 

Joan  rummaged  around  in  Bate  Wood's  rude  cup 
board. 

"These  biscuits  are  as  heavy  as  gold — and  harder," 
she  said. 

Kells  flashed  a  glance  at  her  that  held  pride, 
admiration,  and  sadness.  "You  are  the  gamest  girl 
I  ever  knew!  I  wish  I'd —  But  that's  too  late!  .  .  . 
Joan,  if  anything  happens  to  me  stick  close  to 
Cleve.  I  believe  you  can  trust  him.  Come  on 
now. ' ' 

Then  he  strode  out  of  the  cabin.  Joan  had 
almost  to  run  to  keep  up  with  him.  There  were  no 
other  men  now  in  sight.  She  knew  that  Jim  would 
follow  soon,  because  his  gold-dust  was  hidden  in  the 
cavern  back  of  her  room,  and  he  would  not  need 
much  time  to  get  it.  Nevertheless,  she  anxiously 
looked  back.  She  and  Kells  had  gone  perhaps  a 
couple  of  hundred  yards  before  Jim  appeared,  and 
then  he  came  on  the  run.  At  a  point  about  opposite 
the  first  tents  he  joined  Kells. 

"Jim,  how  about  guns?"  asked  the  bandit. 

"I've  got  two,"  replied  Cleve. 

"Good!  There's  no  telling—  Jim,  I'm  afraid  of 
the  gang.  They're  crazy.  What  do  you  think?" 

"I  don't  know.     It's  a  hard  proposition." 

"We'll  get  away,  all  right.  Don't  worry  about 
that.  But  the  gang  will  never  come  together  again." 
This  singular  man  spoke  with  melancholy.  "Slow 
up  a  little  now,"  he  added.  "We  don't  want  to 
attract  attention.  ...  But  where  is  there  any  one  to 

304 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

see  us?  ...  Jim,  did  I  have  you  figured  right  about 
theCreede  job?" 

"You  sure  did.     I  just  lost  my  nerve." 

"Well,  no  matter." 

Then  Kells  appeared  to  forget  that.  He  stalked 
on  with  keen  glances  searching  everywhere,  until 
suddenly,  when  he  saw  round  a  bend  of  the  road, 
he  halted  with  grating  teeth.  That  road  was 
empty  all  the  way  to  the  other  end  of  camp, 
but  there  surged  a  dark  mob  of  men.  Kells  stalked 
forward  again.  The  Last  Nugget  appeared  like 
an  empty  barn.  How  vacant  and  significant  the 
whole  center  of  camp!  Kells  did  not  speak  an 
other  word. 

Joan  hurried  on  between  Kells  and  Cleve.  She 
was  trying  to  fortify  herself  to  meet  what  lay  at  the 
end  of  the  road.  A  strange,  hoarse  roar  of  men  and 
an  upflinging  of  arms  made  her  shudder.  She  kept 
her  eyes  lowered  and  clung  to  the  arms  of  her 
companions. 

Finally  they  halted.  She  felt  the  crowd  before  she 
saw  it.  A  motley  assemblage  with  what  seemed 
craned  necks  and  intent  backs!  They  were  all 
looking  forward  and  upward.  But  she  forced  her 
glance  down. 

Kells  stood  still.  Jim's  grip  was  hard  upon  her 
arm.  Presently  men  grouped  round  Kells.  She 
heard  whispers.  They  began  to  walk  slowly,  and 
she  was  pushed  and  led  along.  More  men  joined 
the  group.  Soon  she  and  Kells  and  Jim  were 
hemmed  in  a  circle.  Then  she  saw  the  huge  form 
of  Gulden,  the  towering  Oliver,  and  Smith  and 
Blicky,  Beard,  Jones,  Williams,  Budd,  and  others. 

305 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

The  circle  they  formed  appeared  to  be  only  one  of 
many  groups,  all  moving,  whispering,  facing  from 
her.  Suddenly  a  sound  like  the  roar  of  a  wave 
agitated  that  mass  of  men.  It  was  harsh,  piercing, 
unnatural,  yet  it  had  a  note  of  wild  exultation.  Then 
came  the  stamp  and  surge,  and  then  the  upflinging 
of  arms,  and  then  the  abrupt,  strange  silence,  broken 
only  by  a  hiss  or  an  escaping  breath,  like  a  sob. 
Beyond  all  Joan's  power  to  resist  was  a  deep, 
primitive  desire  to  look. 

There  over  the  heads  of  the  mob — from  the  bench 
of  the  slope — rose  grotesque  structures  of  new- 
hewn  lumber.  On  a  platform  stood  black,  motion 
less  men  in  awful  contrast  with  a  dangling  object 
that  doubled  up  and  curled  upon  itself  in  terrible 
convulsions.  It  lengthened  while  it  swayed;  it 
slowed  its  action  while  it  stretched.  It  took  on  the 
form  of  a  man.  He  swung  by  a  rope  round  his 
neck.  His  head  hung  back.  His  hands  beat.  A 
long  tremor  shook  the  body;  then  it  was  still,  and 
swayed  to  and  fro,  a  dark,  limp  thing. 

Joan's  gaze  was  riveted  in  horror.  A  dim,  red 
haze  made  her  vision  imperfect.  There  was  a 
sickening  riot  within  her. 

There  were  masked  men  all  around  the  platform 
—a  solid  phalanx  of  them  on  the  slope  above. 
They  were  heavily  armed.  Other  masked  men  stood 
on  the  platform.  They  seemed  rigid  figures — stiff, 
jerky  when  they  moved.  How  different  from  the 
two  forms  swaying  below! 

The  structure  was  a  rude  scaffold  and  the  vigi 
lantes  had  already  hanged  two  bandits. 

Two  others  with  hands  bound  behind  their  backs 

306 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

stood  farther  along  the  platform  under  guard. 
Before  each  dangled  a  noose. 

Joan  recognized  Texas  and  Frenchy.  And  on  the 
instant  the  great  crowd  let  out  a  hard  breath  that 
ended  in  silence. 

The  masked  leader  of  the  vigilantes  was  address 
ing  Texas:  "We'll  spare  your  life  if  you  confess. 
Who's  the  head  of  this  Border  Legion?" 

' '  Shore  it's  Red  Pearce !  .  .  .  Haw !     Haw !    Haw !" 

"We'll  give  you  one  more  chance,"  came  the  curt 
reply. 

Texas  appeared  to  become  serious  and  somber. 
"I  swear  to  God  it's  Pearce!"  he  declared. 

"A  lie  won't  save  you.  Come,  the  truth!  We 
think  we  know,  but  we  want  proof!  Hurry!" 

"You  can  go  where  it's  hot!"  responded  Texas. 

The  leader  moved  his  hand  and  two  other  masked 
men  stepped  forward. 

"Have  you  any  message  to  send  any  one — any 
thing  to  say?"  he  asked. 

"Nope." 

"Have  you  any  request  to  make?" 

"Hang  thet  Frenchman  before  me!  I  want  to 
see  him  kick." 

Nothing  more  was  said.  The  two  men  adjusted 
the  noose  round  the  doomed  man's  neck.  Texas 
refused  the  black  cap.  And  he  did  not  wait  for  the 
drop  to  be  sprung.  He  walked  off  the  platform 
into  space  as  Joan  closed  her  eyes. 

Again  that  strange,  full,  angry,  and  unnatural  roar 
waved  through  the  throng  of  watchers.  It  was 
terrible  to  hear.  Joan  felt  the  violent  action  of  that 
crowd,  although  the  men  close  round  her  were  immov- 

307 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

able  as  stones.  She  imagined  she  could  never  open 
her  eyes  to  see  Texas  hanging  there.  Yet  she  did — 
and  something  about  his  form  told  her  that  he  had 
died  instantly.  He  had  been  brave  and  loyal  even  in 
dishonor.  He  had  more  than  once  spoken  a  kind 
word  to  her.  Who  could  tell  what  had  made  him  an 
outcast?  She  breathed  a  prayer  for  his  soul. 

The  vigilantes  were  bolstering  up  the  craven 
Frenchy.  He  could  not  stand  alone.  They  put  the 
rope  round  his  neck  and  lifted  him  off  the  platform- 
then  let  him  down.  He  screamed  in  his  terror. 
They  cut  short  his  cries  by  lifting  him  again.  This 
time  they  held  him  up  several  seconds.  His  face 
turned  black.  His  eyes  bulged.  His  breast  heaved. 
His  legs  worked  with  the  regularity  of  a  jumping- 
jack.  They  let  him  down  and  loosened  the  noose. 
They  were  merely  torturing  him  to  wring  a  confession 
from  him.  He  had  been  choked  severely  and  needed 
a  moment  to  recover.  When  he  did  it  was  to  shrink 
back  in  abject  terror  from  that  loop  of  rope  dangling 
before  his  eyes. 

The  vigilante  leader  shook  the  noose  in  his  face 
and  pointed  to  the  swaying  forms  of  the  dead 
bandits. 

Frenchy  frothed  at  the  mouth  as  he  shrieked  out 
words  in  his  native  tongue,  but  any  miner  there 
could  have  translated  their  meaning. 

The  crowd  heaved  forward,  as  if  with  one  step, 
then  stood  in  a  strained  silence. 

"Talk  English!"  ordered  the  vigilante. 

'Til  tell!    Ill  tell!" 

Joan  became  aware  of  a  singular  tremor  in  Kells's 
arm,  which  she  still  clasped.  Suddenly  it  jerked. 

308 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

She  caught  a  gleam  of  blue.  Then  the  bellow  of  a 
gun  almost  split  her  ears.  Powder  burned  her 
cheek.  She  saw  Frenchy  double  up  and  collapse  on 
the  platform. 

For  an  instant  there  was  a  silence  in  which  every 
man  seemed  petrified.  Then  burst  forth  a  hoarse 
uproar  and  the  stamp  of  many  boots.  All  in  another 
instant  pandemonium  broke  out.  The  huge  crowd 
split  in  every  direction.  Joan  felt  Cleve's  strong 
arm  around  her — felt  herself  borne  on  a  resistless 
tide  of  yelling,  stamping,  wrestling  men.  She  had 
a  glimpse  of  Kells's  dark  face  drawing  away  from 
her;  another  of  Gulden's  giant  form  in  Herculean 
action,  tossing  men  aside  like  ninepins;  another  of 
weapons  aloft.  Savage,  wild-eyed  men  fought  to 
get  into  the  circle  whence  that  shot  had  come. 
They  broke  into  it,  but  did  not  know  then  whom 
to  attack  or  what  to  do.  And  the  rushing  of  the 
frenzied  miners  all  around  soon  disintegrated 
Kells's  band  and  bore  its  several  groups  in  every 
direction.  There  was  not  another  shot  fired. 

Joan  was  dragged  and  crushed  in  the  melee. 
Not  for  rods  did  her  feet  touch  the  ground.  But 
in  the  clouds  of  dust  and  confusion  of  struggling 
forms  she 'knew  Jim  still  held  her,  and  she  clasped 
him  with  all  her  strength.  Presently  her  feet 
touched  the  earth;  she  was  not  jostled  and  pressed; 
then  she  felt  free  to  walk;  and  with  Jim  urging  her 
they  climbed  a  rock-strewn  slope  till  a  cabin  im 
peded  further  progress.  But  they  had  escaped  the 
stream. 

Below  was  a  strange  sight.  A  scaffold  shrouded 
in  dust-clouds;  a  band  of  bewildered  vigilantes  with 

309 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

weapons  drawn,  waiting  for  they  knew  not  what; 
three  swinging,  ghastly  forms  and  a  dead  man  on  the 
platform;  and  all  below,  a  horde  of  men  trying  to 
escape  from  one  another.  That  shot  of  Kells's  had 
precipitated  a  rush.  No  miner  knew  who  the 
vigilantes  were  nor  the  members  of  the  Border 
Legion.  Every  man  there  expected  a  bloody  battle 
— distrusted  the  man  next  to  him — and  had  given 
way  to  panic.  The  vigilantes  had  tried  to  crowd 
together  for  defense  and  all  the  others  had  tried  to 
escape.  It  was  a  wild  scene,  born  of  wild  justice 
and  blood  at  fever-heat,  the  climax  of  a  disordered 
time  where  gold  and  violence  reigned  supreme.  It 
could  only  happen  once,  but  it  was  terrible  while  it 
lasted.  It  showed  the  craven  in  men ;  it  proved  the 
baneful  influence  of  gold;  it  brought,  in  its  fruition, 
the  destiny  of  Alder  Creek  Camp.  For  it  must  have 
been  that  the  really  brave  and  honest  men  in  vast 
majority  retraced  their  steps  while  the  vicious  kept 
running.  So  it  seemed  to  Joan. 

She  huddled  against  Jim  there  in  the  shadow  of 
the  cabin  wall,  and  not  for  long  did  either  speak. 
They  watched  and  listened.  The  streams  of  miners 
turned  back  toward  the  space  round  the  scaffold 
where  the  vigilantes  stood  grouped,  and  there  rose 
a  subdued  roar  of  excited  voices.  Many  small 
groups  of  men  conversed  together,  until  the  vigilante 
leader  brought  all  to  attention  by  addressing  the 
populace  in  general.  Joan  could  not  hear  what  he 
•  said  and  had  no  wish  to  hear. 

"Joan,  it  all  happened  so  quickly,  didn't  it?" 
whispered  Jim,  shaking  his  head  as  if  he  was  not 
convinced  of  reality. 

310 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

" Wasn't  he — terrible!"  whispered  Joan  in  reply. 

"He!    Who?" 

"Kells."  In  her  mind  the  bandit  leader  domi 
nated  all  that  wild  scene. 

"Terrible,  if  you  like.  But  I'd  say  great!  .  .  . 
The  nerve  of  him!  In  the  face  of  a  hundred  vigi 
lantes  and  thousands  of  miners !  But  he  knew  what 
that  shot  would  do." 

"Never!  He  never  thought  of  that,"  declared 
Joan,  earnestly.  "I  felt  him  tremble.  I  had  a 
glimpse  of  his  face.  .  .  .  Oh !  .  .  .  First  in  his  mind  was 
his  downfall,  and,  second,  the  treachery  of  Frenchy. 
I  think  that  shot  showed  Kells  as  utterly  desperate, 
but  weak.  He  couldn't  have  helped  it — if  that  had 
been  the  last  bullet  in  his  gun." 

Jim  Cleve  looked  strangely  at  Joan,  as  if  her 
eloquence  was  both  persuasive  and  incomprehen 
sible. 

"Well,  that  was  a  lucky  shot  for  us — and  him, 
too." 

"Do  you  think  he  got  away?"  she  asked,  eagerly. 

"Sure.  They  all  got  away.  Wasn't  that  about 
the  maddest  crowd  you  ever  saw?" 

' '  No  wonder.  In  a  second  every  man  there  feared 
the  man  next  to  him  would  shoot.  That  showed  the 
power  of  Kells's  Border  Legion.  If  his  men  had 
been  faithful  and  obedient  he  never  would  have 
fallen." 

"Joan !    You  speak  as  if  you  regret  it !" 

"Oh,  I  am  ashamed,"  replied  Joan.  "I  don't 
mean  that.  I  don't  know  what  I  do  mean.  But 
still  I'm  sorry  for  Kells.  I  suffered  so  much.  .  .  . 
Those  long,  long  hours  of  suspense.  .  .  .  And  his 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

fortunes  seemed  my  fortunes — my  very  life — and 
yours,  too,  Jim." 

"I  think  I  understand,  dear,"  said  Jim,  soberly. 

"Jim,  what  11  we  do  now?  Isn't  it  strange  to 
feel  free?" 

"I  feel  as  queer  as  you.  Let  me  think,"  replied 
Jim. 

They  huddled  there  in  comparative  seclusion  for 
a  long  time  after  that.  Joan  tried  to  think  of  plans, 
but  her  mind  seemed  unproductive.  She  felt  half 
dazed.  Jim,  too,  appeared  to  be  laboring  under  the 
same  kind  of  burden.  Moreover,  responsibility  had 
been  added  to  his. 

The  afternoon  waned  till  the  sun  tipped  the  high 
range  in  the  west.  The  excitement  of  the  mining 
populace  gradually  wore  away,  and  toward  sunset 
strings  of  men  filed  up  the  road  and  across  the  open. 
The  masked  vigilantes  disappeared,  and  presently 
only  a  quiet  and  curious  crowd  was  left  round  the 
grim  scaffold  and  its  dark,  swinging  forms.  Joan's 
one  glance  showed  that  the  vigilantes  had  swung 
Frenchy's  dead  body  in  the  noose  he  would  have 
escaped  by  treachery.  They  had  hanged  him  dead. 
What  a  horrible  proof  of  the  temper  of  these  new 
born  vigilantes!  They  had  left  the  bandits  swing 
ing.  What  sight  was  so  appalling  as  these  limp, 
dark,  swaying  forms  ?  Dead  men  on  the  ground  had 
a  dignity — at  least  the  dignity  of  death.  And  death 
sometimes  had  a  majesty.  But  here  both  life  and 
death  had  been  robbed,  and  there  was  only  horror. 
Joan  felt  that  all  her  life  she  would  be  haunted. 

"Joan,  we've  got  to  leave  Alder  Creek,"  declared 
Cleve,  finally.  He  rose  to  his  feet.  The  words 

312 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

seemed  to  have  given  him  decision.     ''At  first  I 

thought  every  bandit  in  the  gang  would  run  as  far  as 

he  could  from  here.     But — you  can't  tell  what  these 

wild  men  will  do.     Gulden,  for  instance!     Common 

(  sense  ought  to  make  them  hide  for  a  spell.     Still, 

i  no  matter  what's  what,  we  must  leave.  .  .  .  Now,  how 

to  go?" 

"Let's  walk.  If  we  buy  horses  or  wait  for  the 
stage  we'll  have  to  see  men  here — and  I'm  afraid — " 

' '  But,  Joan,  there'll  be  bandits  along  the  road  sure. 
And  the  trails,  wherever  they  are,  would  be  less  safe." 

"Let's  travel  by  night  and  rest  by  day." 

"That  won't  do,  with  so  far  to  go  and  no  pack." 

"Then  part  of  the  way." 

"No.  We'd  better  take  the  stage  for  Bannack. 
If  it  starts  at  all  it  '11  be  under  armed  guard.  The 
only  thing  is — will  it  leave  soon?  .  .  .  Come,  Joan, 
we'll  go  down  into  camp." 

Dusk  had  fallen  and  lights  had  begun  to  accen 
tuate  the  shadows.  Joan  kept  close  beside  Jim, 
down  the  slope,  and  into  the  road.  She  felt  like  a 
guilty  thing  and  every  passing  man  or  low-conversing 
group  frightened  her.  Still  she  could  not  help  but 
see  that  no  one  noticed  her  or  Jim,  and  she  began 
to  gather  courage.  Jim  also  acquired  confidence. 
The  growing  darkness  seemed  a  protection.  The 
farther  up  the  street  they  passed,  the  more  men  they 
met.  Again  the  saloons  were  in  full  blast.  Alder 
Creek  had  returned  to  the  free,  careless  tenor  of  its 
way.  A  few  doors  this  side  of  the  Last  Nugget  was 
the  office  of  the  stage  and  express  company.  It  was 
a  wide  tent  with  the  front  canvas  cut  out  and  a  shelf- 
counter  across  the  opeaing.  There  was  a  dim,  yel- 

313 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

low  lamplight.  Half  a  dozen  men  lounged  in  front, 
and  inside  were  several  more,  two  of  whom  appeared 
to  be  armed  guards.  Jim  addressed  no  one  in 
particular. 

"When  does  the  next  stage  leave  for  Bannack?" 

A  man  looked  up  sharply  from  the  papers  that 
littered  a  table  before  him.  "It  leaves  when  we 
start  it,"  he  replied,  curtly. 

"Well,  when  will  that  be?" 

"What's  that  to  you?"  he  replied,  with  a  question 
still  more  curt 

"I  want  to  buy  seats  for  two." 

"That's  different.  Come  in  and  let's  look  you 
over.  .  .  .  Hello!  it's  young  Cleve.  I  didn't  recognize 
you.  Excuse  me.  We're  a  little  particular  these 
days." 

The  man's  face  lighted.  Evidently  he  knew  Jim 
and  thought  well  of  him.  This  reassured  Joan  and 
stilled  the  furious  beating  of  her  heart.  She  saw 
Jim  hand  over  a  sack  of  gold,  from  which  the  agent 
took  the  amount  due  for  the  passage.  Then  he  re 
turned  the  sack  and  whispered  something  in  Jim's 
ear.  Jim  rejoined  her  and  led  her  away,  pressing 
her  arm  close  to  his  side. 

"It's  all  right,"  he  whispered,  excitedly.  "Stage 
leaves  just  before  daylight.  It  used  to  leave  in  the 
middle  of  the  forenoon.  But  they  want  a  good  start 
to-morrow." 

"They  think  it  might  be  held  up?" 

"He  didn't  say  so.  But  there's  every  reason  to 
suspect  that.  .  .  .  Joan,  I  sure  hope  it  won't.  Me 
with  all  this  gold.  Why,  I  feel  as  if  I  weighed  a 
thousand  pounds." 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

"What  '11  we  do  now?"  she  inquired. 

Jim  halted  in  the  middle  of  the  road.  It  was 
quite  dark  now.  The  lights  of  the  camp  were 
flaring;  men  were  passing  to  and  fro;  the  loose 
boards  on  the  walks  rattled  to  their  tread;  the 
saloons  had  begun  to  hum;  and  there  was  a  discor 
dant  blast  from  the  Last  Nugget. 

"That's  it — what  '11  we  do?"  he  asked  in  per 
plexity. 

Joan  had  no  idea  to  advance,  but  with  the  lessen 
ing  of  her  fear  and  the  gradual  clearing  of  her  mind 
she  felt  that  she  would  not  much  longer  be  witless. 

"We've  got  to  eat  and  get  some  rest,"  said  Jim, 
sensibly. 

"I'll  try  to  eat— but  I  don't  think  I'll  be  able  to 
sleep  to-night,"  replied  Joan. 

Jim  took  her  to  a  place  kept  by  a  Mexican.  It 
appeared  to  consist  of  two  tents,  with  opening  in 
front  and  door  between.  The  table  was  a  plank 
resting  upon  two  barrels,  and  another  plank,  resting 
upon  kegs,  served  as  a  seat.  There  was  a  smoking 
lamp  that  flickered.  The  Mexican's  tableware  was 
of  a  crudeness  befitting  his  house,  but  it  was  clean 
and  he  could  cook — two  facts  that  Joan  appreciated 
after  her  long  experience  of  Bate  Wood.  She  and 
Jim  were  the  only  customers  of  the  Mexican,  who 
spoke  English  rather  well  and  was  friendly.  Evi 
dently  it  pleased  him  to  see  the  meal  enjoyed.  Both 
the  food  and  the  friendliness  had  good  effect  upon 
Jim  Cleve.  He  ceased  to  listen  all  the  time  and  to 
glance  furtively  out  at  every  footstep. 

"Joan,  I  guess  it  '11  turn  out  all  right,"  he  said, 
clasping  her  hand  as  it  rested  upon  the  table. 
21  315 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

Suddenly  he  looked  bright-eyed  and  shy,  He 
leaned  toward  her.  "Do  you  remember — we  are 
married?"  he  whispered. 

Joan  was  startled.  "Of  course,"  she  replied, 
hastily.  But  had  she  forgotten? 

"You're  my  wife." 

Joan  looked  at  him  and  felt  her  nerves  begin  to 
tingle.  A  soft,  warm  wave  stole  over  her. 

Like  a  boy  he  laughed.  ' '  This  was  our  first  meal 
together — on  our  honeymoon!" 

"Jim!"     The  blood  burned  in  Joan's  face. 

"There  you  sit — you  beautiful .  .  .  But  you're  not 
a  girl  now.  You're  Dandy  Dale." 

"Don't  call  me  that!"  exclaimed  Joan. 

"But  I  shall— always.  We'll  keep  that  bandit 
suit  always.  You  can  dress  up  sometimes  to  show 
off — to  make  me  remember — to  scare  the — the 
kids—" 

"Jim  Cleve!" 

"Oh,  Joan,  I'm  afraid  to  be  happy.  But  I  can't 
help  it.  We're  going  to  get  away.  You  belong  to 
roe.  And  I've  sacks  and  sacks  of  gold-dust.  Lord! 
I've  no  idea  how  much!  But  you  can  never  spend 
all  the  money.  Isn't  it  just  like  a  dream?" 

Joan  smiled  through  tears,  and  failed  trying  to 
look  severe. 

"Get  me  and  the  gold  away — safe — before  you 
crow,"  she  said. 

That  sobered  him.  He  led  her  out  again  into  the 
dark  street  with  its  dark  forms  crossing  to  and  fro 
before  the  lights. 

"It's  a  long  time  before  morning.  Where  can  I 
take  you — so  you  can  sleep  a  little?"  he  muttered0 

316 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

J*Find  a  place  where  we  can  sit  down  and  wait/* 
she  suggested. 

* '  No.' '  He  pondered  a  moment.  ' '  I  guess  there's 
no  risk." 

Then  he  led  her  up  the  street  and  through  that  end 
of  camp  out  upon  the  rough,  open  slope.  They 
began  to  climb.  The  stars  were  bright,  but  even 
so  Joan  stumbled  often  over  the  stones.  She  won 
dered  how  Jim  could  get  along  so  well  in  the  dark 
and  she  clung  to  his  arm.  They  did  not  speak  often, 
and  then  only  in  whispers.  Jim  halted  occasionally 
to  listen  or  to  look  up  at  the  bold,  black  bluff  for 
his  bearings.  Presently  he  led  her  among  broken 
fragments  of  cliff,  and  half  carried  her  over  rougher 
ground,  into  a  kind  of  shadowy  pocket  or  niche. 

"Here's  where  I  slept,"  he  whispered. 

He  wrapped  a  blanket  round  her,  and  then  they 
sat  down  against  the  rock,  and  she  leaned  upon  his 
shoulder. 

"I  have  your  coat  and  the  blanket,  too,"  she 
said.  "Won't  you  be  cold?" 

He  laughed.  "Now  don't  talk  any  more.  You're 
white  and  fagged-out.  You  need  to  rest — to  sleep." 

"Sleep?     How  impossible!"  she  murmured. 

"Why,  your  eyes  are  half  shut  now.  .  .  .  Anyway, 
I'll  not  talk  to  you.  I  want  to  think." 

"Jim!  .  .  .  kiss  me — good  night,"  she  whispered. 

He  bent  over  rather  violently,  she  imagined.  His 
head  blotted  out  the  light  of  the  stars.  He  held  her 
tightly  for  a  moment.  She  felt  him  shake.  Then 
he  kissed  her  on  the  cheek  and  abruptly  drew  away. 
How  strange  he  seemed! 

For  that  matter,  everything  was  strange.     She  had 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

never  seen  the  stars  so  bright,  so  full  of  power,  so 
close.  All  about  her  the  shadows  gathered  protect- 
ingly,  to  hide  her  and  Jim.  The  silence  spoke. 
She  saw  Jim's  face  in  the  starlight  and  it  seemed 
so  keen,  so  listening,  so  thoughtful,  so  beautiful. 
He  would  sit  there  all  night,  wide-eyed  and  alert, 
guarding  her,  waiting  for  the  gray  of  dawn.  How 
he  had  changed!  And  she  was  his  wife!  But  that 
seemed  only  a  dream.  It  needed  daylight  and  sight 
of  her  ring  to  make  that  real. 

A  warmth  and  languor  stole  over  her;  she  relaxed 
comfortably;  after  all,  she  would  sleep.  But  why 
did  that  intangible  dread  hang  on  to  her  soul? 
The  night  was  so  still  and  clear  and  perfect — a 
radiant  white  night  of  stars — and  Jim  was  there, 
holding  her — and  to-morrow  they  would  ride  away. 
That  might  be,  but  dark,  dangling  shapes  haunted 
her,  back  in  her  mind,  and  there,  too,  loomed 
Kells.  Where  was  he  now?  Gone — gone  on  hie 
bloody  trail  with  his  broken  fortunes  and  his  des 
perate  bitterness!  He  had  lost  her.  The  lunge  of 
that  wild  mob  had  parted  them.  A  throb  of  pain 
and  shame  went  through  her,  for  she  was  sorry. 
She  could  not  understand  why,  unless  it  was  because 
she  had  possessed  some  strange  power  to  instil  or 
bring  up  good  in  him.  No  woman  could  have  been 
proof  against  that.  It  was  monstrous  to  know  that 
she  had  power  to  turn  him  from  an  evil  life,  yet  she 
could  not  do  it.  It  was  more  than  monstrous  to 
realize  that  he  had  gone  on  spilling  blood  and  would 
continue  to  go  on  when  she  could  have  prevented 
it — could  have  saved  many  poor  miners  who  per 
haps  had  wives  or  sweethearts  somewhere.  Yet 

318 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

there  was  no  help  for  it.  She  loved  Jim  Cleve. 
She  might  have  sacrificed  herself,  but  she  would  not 
sacrifice  him  for  all  the  bandits  and  miners  ~*i  the 
border. 

Joan  felt  that  she  would  always  be  haunted  and 
would  always  suffer  that  pang  for  Kells.  She 
would  never  lie  down  in  the  peace  and  quiet  of  her 
home,  wherever  that  might  be,  without  picturing 
Kells,  dark  and  forbidding  and  burdened,  pacing 
some  lonely  cabin  or  riding  a  lonely  trail  or  lying 
with  his  brooding  face  upturned  to  the  lonely  stars. 
Sooner  or  later  he  would  meet  his  doom.  It  was 
inevitable.  She  pictured  over  that  sinister  scene  of 
the  dangling  forms;  but  no — Kells  would  never  end 
that  way.  Terrible  as  he  was,  he  had  not  been 
born  to  be  hanged.  He  might  be  murdered  in  his 
sleep,  by  one  of  that  band  of  traitors  who  were 
traitors  because  in  the  nature  of  evil  they  had  to  be. 
But  more  likely  some  gambling-hell,  with  gold  and 
life  at  stake,  would  see  his  last  fight.  These  bandits 
stole  gold  and  gambled  among  themselves  and  fought. 
And  that  fight  which  finished  Kells  must  necessarily 
be  a  terrible  one.  She  seemed  to  see  into  a  lonely 
cabin  where  a  log  fire  burned  low  and  lamps  flickered 
and  blue  smoke  floated  in  veils  and  men  lay  prone 
on  the  floor — Kells,  stark  and  bloody,  and  the  giant 
Gulden,  dead  at  last  and  more  terrible  in  death, 
and  on  the  rude  table  bags  of  gold  and  dull,  shining 
heaps  of  gold,  and  scattered  on  the  floor,  like  streams 
of  sand  and  useless  as  sand,  dust  of  gold — the 
Destroyer. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

ALL  Joan's  fancies  and  dreams  faded  into  ob 
scurity,  and  when  she  was  aroused  it  seemed  she 
had  scarcely  closed  her  eyes.  But  there  was  the  gray 
gloom  of  dawn.  Jim  was  shaking  her  gently. 

"No,  you  weren't  sleepy — it's  just  a  mistake,"  he 
said,  helping  her  to  arise.  "Now  we'll  get  out  of 
here." 

They  threaded  a  careful  way  out  of  the  rocks,  then 
hurried  down  the  slope.  In  the  grayness  Joan  saw 
the  dark  shape  of  a  cabin  and  it  resembled  the  one 
Kells  had  built.  It  disappeared.  Presently  when 
Jim  led  her  into  a  road  she  felt  sure  that  this  cabin 
had  been  the  one  where  she  had  been  a  prisoner  for 
so  long.  They  hurried  down  the  road  and  entered 
the  camp.  There  were  no  lights.  The  tents  and 
cabins  looked  strange  and  gloomy.  The  road  was 
empty.  Not  a  sound  broke  the  stillness.  At  the 
bend  Joan  saw  a  stage-coach  and  horses  looming 
up  in  what  seemed  gray  distance.  Jim  hurried  her 
on. 

They  reached  the  stage.  The  horses  were  restive. 
The  driver  was  on  the  seat,  whip  and  reins  in  hand. 
Two  men  sat  beside  him  with  rifles  across  their  knees. 
The  door  of  the  coach  hung  open.  There  were  men 
inside,  one  of  whom  had  his  head  out  of  the  window. 

320 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

The  barrel  of  a  rifle  protruded  near  him.  He  was 
talking  in  a  low  voice  to  a  man  apparently  busy  at 
the  traces. 

" Hello,  Cleve!  You're  late/'  said  another  man, 
evidently  the  agent.  "  Climb  aboard.  When  '11  you 
be  back?" 

"I  hardly  krr;w»"  replied  Cleve,  with  hesitation. 

"All  right.  Good  luck  to  you."  He  closed  the 
coach  door  after  Joan  and  Jim.  "Let  'em  go,  Bill." 

The  stage  started  with  a  jerk.  To  Joan  what  an 
unearthly  creak  and  rumble  it  made,  disturbing  the 
silent  dawTi!  Jim  squeezed  her  hand  with  joy. 
They  were  on  the  way! 

Joan  and  Jim  had  a  seat  to  themselves.  Opposite 
sat  three  men — the  guard  with  his  head  half  out  of 
the  window,  a  bearded  miner  who  appeared  stolid 
or  drowsy,  and  a  young  man  who  did  not  look  rough 
and  robust  enough  for  a  prospector.  Neither  of  the 
three  paid  any  particular  attention  to  Joan  and  Jim, 

The  road  had  a  decided  slope  down-hill,  and  Bill, 
the  driver,  had  the  four  horses  on  a  trot.  The 
rickety  old  stage  appeared  to  be  rattling  to  pieces*. 
It  lurched  and  swayed,  and  sometimes  jolted  over 
rocks  and  roots.  Joan  was  hard  put  to  it  to  keep 
from  being  bumped  off  the  seat.  She  held  to  a 
brace  on  one  side  and  to  Jim  on  the  other.  And 
when  the  stage  rolled  down  into  the  creek  and 
thumped  over  boulders  Joan  made  sure  that  every 
bone  in  her  body  would  be  broken.  This  crossing 
marked  the  mouth  of  the  gulch,  and  on  the  other 
side  the  road  was  smooth. 

"We're  going  the  way  we  came,"  whispered  Jim 
in  her  ear. 

321 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

This  was  surprising,  for  Joan  had  been  sure  that 
Bannack  lay  in  the  opposite  direction.  Certainly 
this  fact  was  not  reassuring  to  her.  Perhaps  the 
road  turned  soon. 

Meanwhile  the  light  brightened,  the  day  broke, 
and  the  sun  reddened  the  valley.  Then  it  was  as 
light  inside  the  coach  as  outside.  Joan  might  have 
spared  herself  concern  as  to  her  fellow-passengers. 
The  only  one  who  noticed  her  was  the  young  man, 
and  he,  after  a  stare  and  a  half-smile,  lapsed  into 
abstraction.  He  looked  troubled,  and  there  was 
about  him  no  evidence  of  prosperity.  Jim  held  her 
hand  under  a  fold  of  the  long  coat,  and  occasionally 
he  spoke  of  something  or  other  outside  that  caught 
his  eye.  And  the  stage  rolled  on  rapidly,  seemingly 
in  pursuit  of  the  steady  roar  of  hoofs. 

Joan  imagined  she  recognized  the  brushy  ravine 
out  of  which  Jesse  Smith  had  led  that  day  when 
Kells's  party  came  upon  the  new  road.  She  believed 
Jim  thought  so,  too,  for  he  gripped  her  hand  unusu 
ally  hard.  Beyond  that  point  Joan  began  to 
breathe  more  easily.  There  seemed  no  valid  reason 
now  why  every  mile  should  not  separate  them  farther 
from  the  bandits,  and  she  experienced  relief. 

Then  the  time  did  not  drag  so.  She  wanted  to 
talk  to  Jim,  yet  did  not,  because  of  the  other  pas 
sengers.  Jim  himself  appeared  influenced  by  their 
absorption  in  themselves.  Besides,  the  keen,  cease 
less  vigilance  of  the  guard  was  not  without  its 
quieting  effect.  Danger  lurked  ahead  in  the  bends 
of  that  road.  Joan  remembered  hearing  Kells  say 
that  the  Bannack  stage  had  never  been  properly 
held  up  by  road-agents,  but  that  when  he  got  ready 

322 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

for  the  job  it  would  be  done  right.  Riding  grew  to 
be  monotonous  and  tiresome.  With  the  warmth 
of  the  sun  came  the  dust  and  flies,  and  all  these 
bothered  Joan.  She  did  not  have  her  usual  calm 
ness,  and  as  the  miles  steadily  passed  her  nervous 
ness  increased. 

The  road  left  the  valley  and  climbed  between 
foot-hills  and  wound  into  rockier  country.  Every 
dark  gulch  brought  to  Joan  a  trembling,  breath 
less  spell.  What  places  for  ambush!  But  the 
stage  bowled  on. 

At  last  her  apprehensions  wore  out  and  she  per 
mitted  herself  the  luxury  of  relaxing,  of  leaning  back 
and  closing  her  eyes.  She  was  tired,  drowsy,  hot. 
There  did  not  seem  to  be  a  breath  of  air. 

Suddenly  Joan's  ears  burst  to  an  infernal  crash  of 
^uns.  She  felt  the  whip  and  sting  of  splinters  sent 
flying  by  bullets.  Harsh  yells  followed,  then  the 
scream  of  a  horse  in  agony,  the  stage  lurching  and 
slipping  to  a  halt,  and  thunder  of  heavy  guns  over 
head. 

Jim  yelled  at  her — threw  her  down  on  the  seat. 
She  felt  the  body  of  the  guard  sink  against  her 
knees.  Then  she  seemed  to  feel,  to  hear  through  an 
icy,  sickening  terror. 

A  scattering  volley  silenced  the  guns  above. 
Then  came  the  pound  of  hoofs,  the  snort  of  frightened 
horses. 

"Jesse  Smith!    Stop!"  called  Jim,  piercingly. 

"Hold  on  thar,  Beady!"  replied  a  hoarse  voice. 
"Damn  if  it  ain't  Jim  Cleve!" 

"Ho,  Gul!"  yelled  another  voice,  and  Joan  recog 
nized  it  as  Blicky's. 

323 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

Then  Jim  lifted  her  head,  drew  her  up.  He  was 
white  with  fear. 

1 '  Dear— are— you— hurt  ?" 

"No.     I'm  only — scared,"  she  replied. 

Joan  looked  out  to  see  bandits  on  foot,  guns  in 
hand,  and  others  mounted,  all  gathering  near  the 
coach.  Jim  opened  the  door,  and,  stepping  out,  bade 
her  follow.  Joan  had  to  climb  over  the  dead  guard. 
The  miner  and  the  young  man  huddled  down  on  their 
seat. 

"If  it  ain't  Jim  an'  Kells's  girl— Dandy  Dale!" 
ejaculated  Smith.  "Fellers,  this  means  somethin'. 
.  .  .  Say,  youngster,  hope  you  ain't  hurt — or  the 
girl?" 

"No.  But  that's  not  your  fault,"  replied  Cleve. 
"Why  did  you  want  to  plug  the  coach  full  of  lead?" 

"This  beats  me,"  said  Smith.  "Kells  sent  you 
out  in  the  stage!  But  when  he  gave  us  the  job 
of  holdin'  it  up  he  didn't  tell  us  you'd  be  in  there.  .  .  . 
When  an'  where'd  you  leave  him?" 

"Sometime  last  night — in  camp — near  our  cabin," 
replied  Jim,  quick  as  a  flash.  Manifestly  he  saw 
his  opportunity.  "He  left  Dandy  Dale  with  me. 
Told  us  to  take  the  stage  this  morning.  I  expected 
him  to  be  in  it  or  to  meet  us." 

"Didn't  you  have  no  orders?" 

"None,  except  to  take  care  of  the  girl  till  he  came. 
But  he  did  tell  me  he'd  have  more  to  say." 

Smith  gazed  blankly  from  Cleve  to  Blicky,  and 
then  at  Gulden,  who  came  slowly  forward,  his  hair 
ruffed,  his  gun  held  low.  Joan  followed  the  glance 
of  his  great  gray  eyes,  and  she  saw  the  stage-driver 
hanging  dead  over  his  seat,  and  the  guards  lying  back 

324 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

of  him.     The  off-side  horse  of  the  leaders  lay  dead 
in  his  traces,  with  his  mate  nosing  at  him. 

"Who's  in  there?"  boomed  Gulden,  and  he  thrust 
hand  and  gun  in  at  the  stage  door.  "Come  out!" 

The  young  man  stumbled  out,  hands  above  his 
head,  pallid  and  shaking,  so  weak  he  could  scarcely 
stand. 

Gulden  prodded  the  bearded  miner.  "Come  out 
here,  you!" 

The  man  appeared  to  be  hunched  forward  in  a 
heap. 

"Guess  he's  plugged,"  said  Smith.  "But  he  'ain't 
cashed.  Hear  him  breathe?  .  .  .  Heaves  like  a  sick 
hoss." 

Gulden  reached  with  brawny  arm  and  with  one 
pull  he  dragged  the  miner  off  the  seat  and  out  into 
the  road,  where  he  flopped  with  a  groan.  There 
was  blood  on  his  neck  and  hands.  Gulden  bent  over 
him,  tore  at  his  clothes,  tore  harder  at  something, 
and  then,  with  a  swing,  he  held  aloft  a  broad,  black 
belt,  sagging  heavy  with  gold. 

"Hah!"  he  boomed.  It  was  just  an  exclamation, 
horrible  to  hear,  but  it  did  not  express  satisfaction 
or  exultation.  He  handed  the  gold-belt  to  the 
grinning  Budd,  and  turned  to  the  young  man. 

"Got  any  gold?" 

"No.  I — I  wasn't  a  miner,"  replied  the  youth, 
huskily. 

Gulden  felt  for  a  gold-belt,  then  slapped  at  his 
pockets.  "Turn  round!"  ordered  the  giant. 

"Aw,  Gul,  let  him  go!"  remonstrated  Jesse  Smith. 

Blicky  laid  a  restraining  hand  upon  Gulden's  broad 
shoulder. 

325 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

"Turn  round!"  repeated  Gulden,  without  the 
slightest  sign  of  noticing  his  colleagues. 

But  the  youth  understood  and  he  turned  a  ghastly, 
livid  hue. 

"For  God's  sake — don't  murder  me!"  he  gasped. 
"I  had — nothing — no  gold — no  gun!" 

Gulden  spun  him  round  like  a  top  and  pushed  him 
forward.  They  went  half  a  dozen  paces,  then  the 
youth  staggered,  and,  turning,  he  fell  on  his  knees. 

"Don't — kill — me!"  he  entreated. 

Joan,  seeing  Jim  Cleve  stiffen  and  crouch,  thought 
of  him  even  in  that  horrible  moment;  and  she 
gripped  his  arm  with  all  her  might.  They  must 
endure. 

The  other  bandits  muttered,  but  none  moved  a 
hand. 

Gulden  thrust  out  the  big  gun.  His  hair  bristled 
on  his  head,  and  his  huge  frame  seemed  instinct 
with  strange  vibration,  like  some  object  of  tremen 
dous  weight  about  to  plunge  into  resistless  momen 
tum. 

Even  the  stricken  youth  saw  his  doom.  "Let — • 
me — pray!"  he  begged. 

Joan  did  not  faint,  but  a  merciful  unclamping  of 
muscle-bound  rigidity  closed  her  eyes. 

"Gul!"  yelled  Blicky,  with  passion.  "I  ain't 
a-goin'  to  let  you  kill  this  kid !  There's  no  sense  in  it. 
We're  spotted  back  in  Alder  Creek.  .  .  .  Run,  kid! 
Run!" 

Then  Joan  opened  her  eyes  to  see  the  surly  Gul 
den's  arm  held  by  Blicky,  and  the  youth  running 
blindly  down  the  road.  Joan's  relief  and  joy  were 
tremendous.  But  still  she  answered  to  the  realizing 

326 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

shock  of  what  Gulden  had  meant  to  do.  She 
leaned  against  Cleve,  all  within  and  without  a 
whirling  darkness  of  fire.  The  border  wildness 
claimed  her  then.  She  had  the  spirit,  though  not 
the  strength,  to  fight.  She  needed  the  sight  and 
sound  of  other  things  to  restore  her  equilibrium. 
She  would  have  welcomed  another  shock,  an  injury. 
And  then  she  was  looking  down  upon  the  gasping 
miner.  He  was  dying.  Hurriedly  Joan  knelt  be 
side  him  to  lift  his  head.  At  her  call  Cleve  brought 
a  canteen.  But  the  miner  could  not  drink  and  he 
died  with  some  word  unspoken. 

Dizzily  Joan  arose,  and  with  Cleve  half  supporting 
her  she  backed  off  the  road  to  a  seat  on  the  bank. 
She  saw  the  bandits  now  at  business-like  action. 
Blicky  and  Smith  were  cutting  the  horses  out  of  their 
harness;  Beady  Jones,  like  a  ghoul,  searched  the 
dead  men;  the  three  bandits  whom  Joan  knew 
only  by  sight  were  making  up  a  pack;  Budd  was 
standing  beside  the  stage  with  his  expectant  grin; 
and  Gulden,  with  the  agility  of  the  gorilla  he  re 
sembled,  was  clambering  over  the  top  of  the  stage. 
Suddenly  from  under  the  driver's  seat  he  hauled  a 
buckskin  sack.  It  was  small,  but  heavy.  He  threw 
it  down  to  Budd,  almost  knocking  over  that  bandit. 
Budd  hugged  the  sack  and  yelled  like  an  Indian. 
The  other  men  whooped  and  ran  toward  him. 
Gulden  hauled  out  another  sack.  Hands  to  the 
number  of  a  dozen  stretched  clutchingly.  When  he 
threw  the  sack  there  was  a  mad  scramble.  They 
fought,  but  it  was  only  play.  They  were  gleeful. 
Blicky  secured  the  prize  and  he  held  it  aloft  in 
triumph.  Assuredly  he  would  have  waved  it  had 

327 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

it  not  been  so  heavy.  Gulden  drew  out  several 
small  sacks,  which  he  provokingly  placed  on  the  seat 
in  front  of  him.  The  bandits  below  howled  in  pro 
test.  Then  the  giant,  with  his  arm  under  the  seat, 
his  huge  frame  bowed,  heaved  powerfully  upon 
something,  and  his  face  turned  red.  He  halted  in 
his  tugging  to  glare  at  his  bandit  comrades  below. 
If  his  great  cavernous  eyes  expressed  any  feeling  it 
was  analogous  to  the  reluctance  manifest  in  his 
posture — he  regretted  the  presence  of  his  gang.  He 
would  rather  have  been  alone.  Then  with  deep- 
muttered  curse  and  mighty  heave  he  lifted  out  a 
huge  buckskin  sack,  tied  and  placarded  and  marked. 

"One  hundred  pounds!"  he  boomed. 

It  seemed  to  Joan  then  that  a  band  of  devils  sur 
rounded  the  stage,  all  roaring  at  the  huge,  bristling 
demon  above,  who  glared  and  bellowed  down  a  them. 

Finally  Gulden  stilled  the  tumult,  which,  after  all, 
was  one  of  frenzied  joy. 

"Share  and  share  alike!"  he  thundered,  now  black 
in  the  face.  "Do  you  fools  want  to  waste  time 
here  on  the  road,  dividing  up  this  gold?" 

"What  you  say  goes,"  shouted  Budd. 

There  was  no  dissenting  voice. 

"What  a  stake!"  ejaculated  Blicky.  "Gul,  the 
boss  had  it  figgered.  Strange,  though,  he  hasn't 
showed  up!" 

"Where '11  we  go?"  queried  Gulden.  "Speak  up, 
you  men." 

The  unanimous  selection  was  Cabin  Gulch. 
Plainly  Gulden  did  not  like  this,  but  he  was  just. 

"All  right.  Cabin  Gulch  it  is.  But  nobody  out 
side  of  Kells  and  us  gets  a  share  in  this  stake." 

328 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

Many  willing  hands  made  short  work  of  prepara 
tion.  Gulden  insisted  on  packing  all  the  gold  upon 
his  saddle,  and  had  his  will.  He  seemed  obsessed; 
he  never  glanced  at  Joan.  It  was  Jesse  Smith  who 
gave  the  directions  and  orders.  One  of  the  stage- 
horses  was  packed.  Another,  with  a  blanket  for  a 
saddle,  was  given  Cleve  to  ride.  Blicky  gallantly 
gave  his  horse  to  Joan,  shortened  his  stirrups  to 
fit  her,  and  then  whistled  at  the  ridgy  back  ot 
the  stage  -  horse  he  elected  to  ride.  Gulden  was 
in  a  hurry,  and  twice  he  edged  off,  to  be  halted 
by  impatient  calls.  Finally  the  cavalcade  was 
ready.  Jesse  Smith  gazed  around  upon  the  scene 
with  the  air  of  a  general  overlooking  a  vanquished 
enemy. 

"Whoever  fust  runs  acrost  this  job  will  have  blind 
staggers,  don't  you  forgit  thet!" 

"What's  Kells  goin'  to  figger?"  asked  Blicky, 
sharply. 

"Nothin'  fer  Kells!  He  wasn't  in  at  the  finish!" 
declared  Budd. 

Blicky  gazed  darkly  at  him,  but  made  no  comment. 

"I  tell  you,  Blick,  I  can't  git  this  all  right  in  my 
head,"  said  Smith. 

' '  Say,  ask  Jim  again.  Mebbe,  now  the  job's  done, 
he  can  talk,"  suggested  Blicky. 

Jim  Cleve  heard  and  appeared  ready  for  that 
question. 

* '  I  don't  know  much  more  than  I  told  you.  But  I 
can  guess.  Kells  had  this  big  shipment  of  gold 
spotted.  He  must  have  sent  us  in  the  stage  for 
some  reason.  He  said  he'd  tell  me  what  to  expect 
and  do.  But  he  didn't  come  back.  Sure  he  knew 

329 


THE    BORDER   LEGION 

you'd  do  the  job.  And  just  as  sure  he  expected  to 
be  on  hand.  He'll  turn  up  soon." 

This  ruse  of  Jim's  did  not  sound  in  the  least 
logical  or  plausible  to  Joan,  but  it  was  readily  ac 
cepted  by  the  bandits.  Apparently  what  they 
knew  of  Kells's  movements  and  plans  since  the 
break-up  at  Alder  Creek  fitted  well  with  Cleve's 
suggestions. 

"Come  on!"  boomed  Gulden,  from  the  fore. 
"Do  you  want  to  rot  here?" 

Then  without  so  much  as  a  backward  glance  at  the 
ruin  they  left  behind  the  bandits  fell  into  line. 
Jesse  Smith  led  straight  off  the  road  into  a  shallow 
brook  and  evidently  meant  to  keep  in  it.  Gulden 
followed;  next  came  Beady  Jones;  then  the  three 
bandits  with  the  pack-horse  and  the  other  horses; 
Cleve  and  Joan,  close  together,  filed  in  here;  and 
last  came  Budd  and  Blicky.  It  was  rough,  slippery 
traveling  and  the  riders  spread  out.  Cleve,  how 
ever,  rode  beside  Joan.  Once,  at  an  opportune 
moment,  he  leaned  toward  her. 

"We'd  better  run  for  it  at  the  first  chance,"  he 
said,  somberly. 

"No!  .  .  .  Gulden!"  Joan  had  to  moisten  her  lips 
to  speak  the  monster's  name. 

"He'll  never  think  of  you  while  he  has  all  that 
gold." 

Joan's  intelligence  grasped  this,  but  her  morbid 
dread,  terribly  augmented  now,  amounted  almost  to 
a  spell.  Still,  despite  the  darkness  of  her  mind,  she 
had  a  flash  of  inspiration  and  of  spirit. 

"Kells  is  my  only  hope!  ...  If  he  doesn't  join  us 
soon — then  we'll  run!  .  ..  ,  And  if  we  can't  escape 

33° 


THE    BORDER   LEGION 

that" — Joan  made  a  sickening  gesture  toward  the 
fore — "you  must  kill  me  before — before — " 

Her  voice  trailed  off,  failing. 

"I  will!"  he  promised  through  locked  teeth. 

And  then  they  rode  on,  with  dark  faces  bent  over 
the  muddy  water  and  treacherous  stones. 

When  Jesse  Smith  led  out  of  that  brook  it  was 
to  ride  upon  bare  rock.  He  was  not  leaving  any 
trail.  Horses  and  riders  were  of  no  consideration. 
And  he  was  a  genius  for  picking  hard  ground  and 
covering  it.  He  never  slackened  his  gait,  and  it 
seemed  next  to  impossible  to  keep  him  in  sight. 

For  Joan  the  ride  became  toil  and  the  toil  became 
pain.  But  there  was  no  rest.  Smith  kept  merci 
lessly  onward.  Sunset  and  twilight  and  night  found 
the  cavalcade  still  moving.  Then  it  halted  just  as 
Joan  was  about  to  succumb.  Jim  lifted  her  off  her 
horse  and  laid  her  upon  the  grass.  She  begged  for 
water,  and  she  drank  and  drank.  But  she  wanted  no 
food.  There  was  a  heavy,  dull  beating  in  her  ears, 
a  band  tight  round  her  forehead.  She  was  aware  of 
the  gloom,  of  the  crackling  of  fires,  of  leaping  shad 
ows,  of  the  passing  of  men  to  and  fro  near  her,  and, 
most  of  all,  rendering  her  capable  of  a  saving  shred 
of  self-control,  she  was  aware  of  Jim's  constant  com 
panionship  and  watchfulness.  Then  sounds  grew 
far  off  and  night  became  a  blur. 

Morning  when  it  came  seemed  an  age  removed 
from  that  hideous  night.  Her  head  had  cleared, 
and  but  for  the  soreness  of  body  and  limb  she  would 
have  begun  the  day  strong.  There  appeared  little 
to  eat  and  no  time  to  prepare  it.  Gulden  was 
22  331 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

rampant  for  action.  Like  a  miser  he  guarded  the 
saddle  packed  with  gold.  This  time  his  comrades 
were  as  eager  as  he  to  be  on  the  move.  All  were 
obsessed  by  the  presence  of  gold.  Only  one  hour 
loomed  in  their  consciousness — that  of  the  hour  of 
division.  How  fatal  and  pitiful  and  terrible!  Of 
what  possible  use  or  good  was  gold  to  them? 

The  ride  began  before  sunrise.  It  started  and 
kept  on  at  a  steady  trot.  Smith  led  down  out  of  the 
rocky  slopes  and  fastnesses  into  green  valleys.  Jim 
Cleve,  riding  bareback  on  a  lame  horse,  had  his 
difficulties.  Still  he  kept  close  beside  or  behind  Joan 
all  the  way.  They  seldom  spoke,  and  then  only  a 
word  relative  to  this  stern  business  of  traveling  in 
the  trail  of  a  hard-riding  bandit.  Joan  bore  up 
better  this  day,  as  far  as  her  mind  was  concerned. 
Physically  she  had  all  she  could  do  to  stay  in  the 
saddle.  She  learned  of  what  steel  she  was  actually 
made— what  her  slender  frame  could  endure.  That 
day's  ride  seemed  a  thousand  miles  long,  and  never 
to  end.  Yet  the  implacable  Smith  did  finally  halt, 
and  that  before  dark. 

Camp  was  made  near  water.  The  bandits  were  a 
jovial  lot,  despite  a  lack  of  food.  They  talked  of  the 
morrow.  All — the  world — lay  beyond  the  next  sun 
rise.  Some  renounced  their  pipes  and  sought  their 
rest  just  to  hurry  on  the  day.  But  Gulden,  tireless, 
sleepless,  eternally  vigilant,  guarded  the  saddle  of 
gold  and  brooded  over  it,  and  seemed  a  somber 
giant  carved  out  of  the  night.  And  Blicky,  nursing 
some  deep  and  late-developed  scheme,  perhaps  in 
Kells's  interest  or  his  own,  kept  watch  over  Gulden 
and  all, 

332 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

Jim  cautioned  Joan  to  rest,  and  importuned  her 
and  promised  to  watch  while  she  slept. 

Joan  saw  the  stars  through  her  shut  eyelids.  All 
the  night  seemed  to  press  down  and  softly  darken. 

The  sun  was  shining  red  when  the  cavalcade  rode 
up  Cabin  Gulch.  The  grazing  cattle  stopped  to 
watch  and  the  horses  pranced  and  whistled.  There 
were  flowers  and  flitting  birds,  and  glistening  dew  on 
leaves,  and  a  shining  swift  flow  of  water — the  bright 
ness  of  morning  and  nature  smiled  in  Cabin  Gulch. 

Well  indeed  Joan  remembered  the  trail  she  had 
ridden  so  often.  How  that  clump  of  willow  where 
first  she  had  confronted  Jim  thrilled  her  now!  The 
pines  seemed  welcoming  her.  The  gulch  had  a 
sense  of  home  in  it  for  her,  yet  it  was  fearful.  How 
much  had  happened  there!  What  might  yet  hap 
pen! 

Then  a  clear,  ringing  call  stirred  her  pulse.  She 
glanced  up  the  slope.  Tall  and  straight  and  dark, 
there  on  the  bench,  with  hand  aloft,  stood  the 
bandit  Kells. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

THE  weary,  dusty  cavalcade  halted  on  the  level 
bench  before  the  bandit's  cabin.  Gulden 
boomed  a  salute  to  Kells.  The  other  men  shouted 
greeting.  In  the  wild  exultation  of  triumph  they 
still  held  him  as  chief.  But  Kells  was  not  deceived. 
He  even  passed  by  that  heavily  laden,  gold- weigh  ted 
saddle.  He  had  eyes  only  for  Joan. 

"Girl,  I  never  was  so  glad  to  see  any  one!"  he 
exclaimed  in  husky  amaze.  "How  did  it  happen? 
I  never — 

Jim  Cleve  leaned  over  to  interrupt  Kells.  "It 
was  great,  Kells — that  idea  of  yours  putting  us  in 
the  stage-coach  you  meant  to  hold  up,"  said  Cleve, 
with  a  swift,  meaning  glance.  "But  it  nearly  was 
the  end  of  us.  You  didn't  catch  up.  The  gang 
didn't  know  we  were  inside,  and  they  shot  the  old 
stage  full  of  holes." 

"Aha!  So  that's  it,"  replied  Kells,  slowly.  "But 
the  main  point  is — you  brought  her  through.  Jim, 
I  can't  ever  square  that." 

"Oh,  maybe  you  can,"  laughed  Cleve,  as  he  dis 
mounted. 

Suddenly  Kells  became  aware  of  Joan's  exhaustion 
and  distress.  "Joan,  you're  not  hurt?"  he  asked  in 
swift  anxiety. 

334 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

"No,  only  played  out." 

"You  look  it.  Come."  He  lifted  her  out  of  the 
saddle  and,  half  carrying,  half  leading  her,  took 
her  into  the  cabin,  and  through  the  big  room  to 
her  old  apartment.  How  familiar  it  seemed  to 
Joan!  A  ground-squirrel  frisked  along  a  chink 
between  the  logs,  chattering  welcome.  The  place 
was  exactly  as  Joan  had  left  it. 

Kells  held  Joan  a  second,  as  if  he  meant  to  em 
brace  her,  but  he  did  not.  "Lord,  it's  good  to  see 
you!  I  never  expected  to  again.  .  .  .  But  you  can 
tell  me  all  about  yourself  after  you  rest.  ...  I  was 
just  having  breakfast.  I'll  fetch  you  some." 

"Were  you  alone  here?"  asked  Joan. 

"Yes.     I  was  with  Bate  and  Handy — 

"Hey,  Kells!"  roared  the  gang,  from  the  outer 
room. 

Kells  held  aside  the  blanket  curtain  so  that  Joan 
was  able  to  see  through  the  door.  The  men  were 
drawn  up  in  a  half-circle  round  the  table,  upon 
which  were  the  bags  of  gold. 

Kells  whistled  low.  "Joan,  there'll  be  trouble 
now,"  he  said,  "but  don't  you  fear.  I'll  not  forget 
you." 

Despite  his  undoubted  sincerity  Joan  felt  a  subtle 
change  in  him,  and  that,  coupled  with  the  significance 
of  his  words,  brought  a  return  of  the  strange  dread. 
Kells  went  out  and  dropped  the  curtain  behind  him. 
Joan  listened. 

"Share  and  share  alike!"  boomed  the  giant 
Gulden. 

"Say!"  called  Kells,  gaily,  "aren't  you  fellows 
going  to  eat  first?" 

335 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

Shouts  of  derision  greeted  his  sally. 

"I'll  eat  gold-dust,"  added  Budd. 

"Have  it  your  own  way,  men,"  responded  Kells. 
"Blicky,  get  the  scales  down  off  of  that  shelf.  .  .  . 
Say,  I'll  bet  anybody  I'll  have  the  most  dust  by 
sundown." 

More  shouts  of  derision  were  flung  at  him. 

"Who  wants  to  gamble  now?" 

"Boss,  I'll  take  thet  bet." 

"Haw!  Haw!  You  won't  look  so  bright  by  sun 
down." 

Then  followed  a  moment's  silence,  presently 
broken  by  a  clink  of  metal  on  the  table. 

"Boss,  how'd  you  ever  git  wind  of  this  big  ship 
ment  of  gold?"  asked  Jesse  Smith. 

"I've  had  it  spotted.  But  Handy  Oliver  was  the 
scout." 

"We'll  shore  drink  to  Handy!"  exclaimed  one  of 
the  bandits. 

"An'  who  was  sendin'  out  this  shipment?"  queried 
the  curious  Smith.  "Them  bags  are  marked  all  the 
same." 

"It  was  a  one-man  shipment,"  replied  Kells. 
1 '  Sent  out  by  the  boss  miner  of  Alder  Creek.  They 
call  him  Overland  something." 

That  name  brought  Joan  to  her  feet  with  a  thrilling 
fire.  Her  uncle,  old  Bill  Hoadley,  was  called  "Over 
land.  ' '  Was  it  possible  that  the  bandits  meant  him  ? 
It  could  hardly  be;  that  name  was  a  common  one 
in  the  mountains. 

"Shore,  I  seen  Overland  lots  of  times,"  said  Budd. 
"An'  he  got  wise  to  my  watchin'  him." 

"Somebody  tipped  it  off  that  the  Legion  was 
336 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

after  his  gold,"  went  on  Kells.  "I  suppose ' we  have 
Pearce  to  thank  for  that.  But  it  worked  out  well 
for  us.  The  hell  we  raised  there  at  the  lynching 
must  have  thrown  a  scare  into  Overland.  He  had 
nerve  enough  to  try  to  send  his  dust  to  Bannack 
on  the  very  next  stage.  He  nearly  got  away  with 
it,  too.  For  it  was  only  lucky  accident  that  Handy 
heard  the  news." 

The  name  Overland  drew  Joan  like  a  magnet  and 
she  arose  to  take  her  old  position,  where  she  could 
peep  in  upon  the  bandits.  One  glance  at  Jim  Cleve 
told  her  that  he,  too,  had  been  excited  by  the  name. 
Then  it  occurred  to  Joan  that  her  uncle  could 
hardly  have  been  at  Alder  Creek  without  Jim  know 
ing  it.  Still,  among  thousands  of  men,  all  wild  and 
toiling  and  self -sufficient,  hiding  their  identities,  any 
thing  might  be  possible.  After  a  few  moments,  how 
ever,  Joan  leaned  to  the  improbability  of  the  man 
being  her  uncle. 

Kells  sat  down  before  the  table  and  BHcky  stood 
beside  him  with  the  gold-scales.  The  other  bandits 
lined  up  opposite.  Jim  Cleve  stood  to  one  side, 
watching,  brooding. 

"You  can't  weigh  it  all  on  these  scales,"  said 
Blicky. 

"That's  sure,"  replied  Kells,  "We'll  divide  the 
small  bags  first.  .  .  .  Ten  shares — ten  equal  parts ! .  .  . 
Spill  out  the  bags,  Blick.  And  hurry.  Look  hew 
hungry  Gulden  looks!  .  .  .  Somebody  cook  your 
breakfast  while  we  divide  the  gold." 

"Haw!     Haw!" 

"Ho!     Ho!" 

;<Who  wants  to  eat?" 

337 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

The  bandits  were  gay,  derisive,  scornful,  eager, 
like  a  group  of  boys,  half  surly,  half  playful,  at  a 
game. 

"Wai,  I  shore  want  to  see  my  share  weighed," 
drawled  Budd. 

Kells  moved — his  gun  flashed — he  slammed  it 
hard  upon  the  table. 

"Budd,  do  you  question  my  honesty?"  he  asked, 
quick  and  hard. 

"No  offense,  boss.     I  was  just  talkin'." 

That  quick  change  of  Kells's  marked  a  subtle  dif 
ference  in  the  spirit  of  the  bandits  and  the  occa 
sion.  Gaiety  and  good  humor  and  badinage  ended. 
There  were  no  more  broad  grins  or  friendly  leers  or 
coarse  laughs.  Gulden  and  his  group  clustered  closer 
to  the  table,  quiet,  intense,  watchful,  suspicious. 

It  did  not  take  Kells  and  his  assistant  long  to 
divide  the  smaller  quantity  of  the  gold. 

"Here,  Gulden,"  he  said,  and  handed  the  giant  a 
bag.  "Jesse.  .  .  .  Bossert.  .  .  .  Pike.  .  .  .  Beady.  .  .  . 
Braverman.  .  .  .  Blicky." 

"Here,  Jim  Cleve,  get  in  the  game,"  he  added, 
throwing  a  bag  at  Jim.  It  was  heavy.  It  hit  Jim 
with  a  thud  and  dropped  to  the  ground.  He  stooped 
to  reach  it. 

"That  leaves  one  for  Handy  and  one  for  me," 
went  on  Kells.  "Blicky,  spill  out  the  big  bag." 

Presently  Joan  saw  a  huge  mound  of  dull,  gleam 
ing  yellow.  The  color  of  it  leaped  to  the  glinting 
eyes  of  the  bandits.  And  it  seemed  to  her  that  a 
shadow  hovered  over  them.  The  movements  of  Kells 
grew  tense  and  hurried.  Beads  of  sweat  stood  out 
upon  his  brow,  Jfis  hands  were  not  steady. 

338 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

Soon  larger  bags  were  distributed  to  the  bandits. 
That  broke  the  waiting,  the  watchfulness,  but  not 
the  tense  eagerness.  The  bandits  were  now  like 
leashed  hounds.  Blicky  leaned  before  Kells  and  hit 
the  table  with  his  fist. 

''Boss,  I've  a  kick  comin',"  he  said. 

"Come  on  with  it,"  replied  the  leader. 

"Ain't  Gulden  agoin'  to  divide  up  thet  big 
nugget?" 

"He  is  if  he's  square." 

A  chorus  of  affirmatives  from  the  bandits  strength 
ened  Kells 's  statement.  Gulden  moved  heavily  and 
ponderously,  and  he  pushed  some  of  his  comrades 
aside  to  get  nearer  to  Kells. 

"Wasn't  it  my  right  to  do  a  job  by  myself — when  I 
wanted?"  he  demanded. 

"No.  I  agreed  to  let  you  fight  when  you  wanted. 
To  kill  a  man  when  you  liked!  .  .  .  That  was  the 
agreement." 

"What  'd  I  kill  a  man  for?" 

No  one  answered  that  in  words,  but  the  answer 
was  there,  in  dark  faces. 

"I  know  what  I  meant,"  continued  Gulden. 
"And  I'm  going  to  keep  this  nugget." 

There  was  a  moment's  silence.  It  boded  ill  to  the 
giant. 

"So — he  declares  himself,"  said  Blicky,  hotly. 
"Boss,  what  you  say  goes." 

"Let  him  keep  it,"  declared  Kells,  scornfully. 
"I'll  win  it  from  him  and  divide  it  with  the  gang." 

That  was  received  with  hoarse  acclaims  by  all 
except  Gulden.  He  glared  sullenly.  Kells  stood  up 
and  shook  a  long  finger  in  the  giant's  face. 

339 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

"I'll  win  your  nugget,"  he  shouted.  "Til  beat 
you  at  any  game.  ...  I  call  your  hand.  ...  Now  if 
you've  got  any  nerve!" 

"Come  on!"  boomed  the  giant,  and  he  threw  his 
gold  down  upon  the  table  with  a  crash. 

The  bandits  closed  in  around  the  table  with  sud 
den,  hard  violence,  all  crowding  for  seats. 

"I'm  a-goin'  to  set  in  the  game!"  yelled  Blicky. 

"We'll  all  set  in,"  declared  Jesse  Smith. 

"Come  on!"  was  Gulden's  acquiescence. 

"But  we  all  can't  play  at  once,"  protested  Kells. 
"Let's  make  up  two  games." 

"Naw!" 

"Some  of  you  eat,  then,  while  the  others  get 
cleaned  out." 

"Thet's  it — cleaned  out!"  ejaculated  Budd,  mean 
ly.  "You  seem  to  be  sure,  Kells.  An'  I  guess  I'll 
keep  shady  of  thet  game." 

"That's  twice  for  you,  Budd,"  flashed  the  bandit 
leader.  "Beware  of  the  third  time!" 

"Hyar,  fellers,  cut  the  cards  fer  who  sets  in  an' 
who  sets  out,"  called  Blicky,  and  he  slapped  a  deck 
of  cards  upon  the  table. 

With  grim  eagerness,  as  if  drawing  lots  against 
fate,  the  bandits  bent  over  and  drew  cards.  Budd, 
Braverman,  and  Beady  Jones  were  the  ones  ex 
cluded  from  the  game. 

"Beady,  you  fellows  unpack  those  horses  and  turn 
them  loose.  And  bring  the  stuff  inside,"  said  Kells. 

Budd  showed  a  surly  disregard,  but  the  other  two 
bandits  got  up  willingly  and  went  out. 

Then  the  game  began,  with  only  Cleve  standing, 
looking  on.  The  bandits  were  mostly  silent;  they 

340 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

moved  their  hands,  and  occasionally  bent  forward. 
It  was  every  man  against  his  neighbor.  Gulden 
seemed  implacably  indifferent  and  played  like  a 
machine.  Blicky  sat  eager  and  excited,  under  a 
spell.  Jesse  Smith  was  a  slow,  cool,  shrewd  gambler. 
Bossert  and  Pike,  two  ruffians  almost  unknown  to 
Joan,  appeared  carried  away  by  their  opportunity. 
And  Kells  began  to  wear  that  strange,  rapt,  weak 
expression  that  gambling  gave  him. 

Presently  Beady  Jones  and  Braverman  bustled 
in,  carrying  the  packs.  Then  Budd  jumped  up  and 
ran  to  them.  He  returned  to  the  table,  carrying  a 
demijohn,  which  he  banged  upon  the  table. 

"Whisky!"  exclaimed  Kells.  "Take  that  away. 
We  can't  drink  and  gamble." 

"Watch  me!"  replied  Blicky. 

"Let  them  drink,  Kells,"  declared  Gulden.  "We'll 
get  their  dust  quicker.  Then  we  can  have  our 
game." 

Kells  made  no  more  comment.  The  game  went 
on  and  the  aspect  of  it  changed.  When  Kells  him 
self  began  to  drink,  seemingly  unconscious  of  the 
fact,  Joan's  dread  increased  greatly,  and,  leaving  the 
peep-hole,  she  lay  back  upon  the  bed.  Always  a 
sword  had  hung  over  her  head.  Time  after  time  by 
some  fortunate  circumstance  or  by  courage  or  wit 
or  by  an  act  of  Providence  she  had  escaped  what 
strangely  menaced.  Would  she  escape  it  again? 
For  she  felt  the  catastrophe  coming.  Did  Jim 
recognize  that  fact?  Remembering  the  look  on  his 
face,  she  was  assured  that  he  did.  Then  he  would 
be  quick  to  seize  upon  any  possible  chance  to  get  her 
away;  and  always  he  would  be  between  her  and 

34i 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

those  bandits.  At  most,  then,  she  had  only  death 
to  fear — death  that  he  would  mercifully  deal  to  her 
if  the  worst  came.  And  as  she  lay  there  listening 
to  the  slow-rising  murmur  of  the  gamblers,  with 
her  thought  growing  clearer,  she  realized  it  was 
love  of  Jim  and  fear  for  him — fear  that  he  would  lose 
her — that  caused  her  cold  dread  and  the  laboring 
breath  and  the  weighted  heart.  She  had  cost  Jim 
this  terrible  experience  and  she  wanted  to  make  up 
to  him  for  it,  to  give  him  herself  and  all  her  life. 

Joan  lay  there  a  long  time,  thinking  and  suf 
fering,  while  the  strange,  morbid  desire  to  watch 
Kells  and  Gulden  grew  stronger  and  stronger,  until 
it  was  irresistible.  Her  fate,  her-  life,  lay  in  the 
balance  between  these  two  men.  She  divined  that. 

She  returned  to  her  vantage-point,  and  as  she 
glanced  through  she  vibrated  to  a  shock.  The  change 
that  had  begun  subtly,  intangibly,  was  now  a  terrible 
and  glaring  difference.  That  great  quantity  of  gold, 
the  equal  chance  of  every  gambler,  the  marvelous 
possibilities  presented  to  evil  minds,  and  the  hell 
that  hid  in  that  black  bottle — these  had  made  play 
things  of  every  bandit  except  Gulden.  He  was  ex 
actly  the  same  as  ever.  But  to  see  the  others  sent 
a  chill  of  ice  along  Joan's  veins.  Kells  was  white 
and  rapt.  Plain  to  see — he  had  won!  Blicky  was 
wild  with  rage.  Jesse  Smith  sat  darker,  grimmer,  but 
no  longer  cool.  There  was  hate  in  the  glance  he 
fastened  upon  Kells  as  he  bet.  Beady  Jones  and 
Braverman  showed  an  inflamed  and  impotent 
eagerness  to  take  their  turn.  Budd  sat  in  the  game 
now,  and  his  face  wore  a  terrible  look.  Joan  could 
not  tell  what  passion  drove  him,  but  she  knew  he 

342 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

was  a  loser.  Pike  and  Bossert  likewise  were  losers, 
and  stood  apart,  sullen,  watching  with  sick,  jealous 
rage.  Jim  Cleve  had  reacted  to  the  strain,  and  he 
was  white,  with  nervous,  clutching  hands  and 
piercing  glances.  And  the  game  went  on  with  vio 
lent  slap  of  card  or  pound  of  fist  upon  the  table, 
with  the  slide  of  a  bag  of  gold  or  the  little,  sodden 
thump  of  its  weight,  with  savage  curses  at  loss  and 
strange,  raw  exultation  at  gain,  with  hurry  and 
violence — more  than  all,  with  the  wildness  of  the 
hour  and  the  wildness  of  these  men,  drawing  closer 
and  closer  to  the  dread  climax  that  from  the  be 
ginning  had  been  foreshadowed. 

Suddenly  Budd  rose  and  bent  over  the  table,  his 
cards  clutched  in  a  shaking  hand,  his  face  distorted 
and  malignant,  his  eyes  burning  at  Kells.  Pas 
sionately  he  threw  the  cards  down. 

''There!"  he  yelled,  hoarsely,  and  he  stilled  the 
noise. 

"No  good!"  replied  Kells,  tauntingly.  "Is  there 
any  other  game  you  play?" 

Budd  bent  low  to  see  the  cards  in  Kells's  hand, 
and  then,  straightening  his  form,  he  gazed  with 
haggard  fury  at  the  winner.  "You've  done  me!  .  .  . 
I'm  cleaned — I'm  busted!"  he  raved. 

"You  were  easy.  Get  out  of  the  game,"  replied 
Kells,  with  an  exultant  contempt.  It  was  not  the 
passion  of  play  that  now  obsessed  him,  but  the  pas 
sion  of  success. 

"I  said  you  done  me,"  burst  out  Budd,  insanely. 
"You're  slick  with  the  cards!" 

The  accusation  acted  like  magic  to  silence  the 
bandits,  to  check  movement,  to  clamp  the  situation. 

343 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

Kells  was  white  and  radiant;  he  seemed  careless 
and  nonchalant. 

"All  right,  Budd,"  he  replied,  but  his  tone  did  not 
suit  his  strange  look.  "That's  three  times  for  you!" 

Swift  as  a  flash  he  shot.  Budd  fell  over  Gulden, 
and  the  giant  with  one  sweep  of  his  arm  threw  the 
stricken  bandit  off.  Budd  fell  heavily,  and  neither 
moved  nor  spoke. 

"Pass  me  the  bottle,"  went  on  Kells,  a  little  hoarse 
shakiness  in  his  voice.  "And  go  on  with  the  game >" 

"Can  I  set  in  now?"  asked  Beady  Jones,  eagerly, 

"You  and  Jack  wait.  This  's  getting  to  be  all 
between  Kells  an  me,"  said  Gulden. 

"We've  sure  got  Blicky  done!"  exclaimed  Kells. 
There  was  something  taunting  about  the  leader's 
words.  He  did  not  care  for  the  gold.  It  was  the 
fight  to  win.  It  was  his  egotism. 

"Make  this  game  .faster  an'  bigger,  will  you?" 
retorted  Blicky,  who  seemed  inflamed. 

"Boss,  a  little  luck  makes  you  lofty,'*  interposed 
Jesse  Smith  in  dark  disdain.  "Pretty  soon  you'll 
show  yellow  clear  to  your  gizzard!" 

The  gold  lay  there  on  the  table.  It  was  only  a 
means  to  an  end.  It  signified  nothing.  The  evil, 
the  terrible  greed,  the  brutal  lust,  were  in  the  hearts 
of  the  men.  And  hate,  liberated,  rampant,  stalked 
out  unconcealed,  ready  for  blood. 

"Gulden,  change  the  game  to  suit  these  gents," 
taunted  Kells. 

"Double  stakes.  Cut  the  cards!"  boomed  the 
giant,  instantly. 

Blicky  lasted  only  a  few  more  deals  of  the  cards, 
then  he  rose,  loser  of  all  his  share,  a  passionate  and 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

venomous  bandit,  ready  for  murder.  But  he  kept 
his  mouth  shut  and  looked  wary. 

''Boss,  can't  we  set  in  now?"  demanded  Beady 
Jones, 

"Say,  Beady,  you're  in  a  hurry  to  lose  your  gold," 
replied  Kells,  ' '  Wait  till  I  beat  'Gulden  and  Smith. ' ' 

Luck  turned  against  Jesse  Smith.  He  lost  first 
to  Gulden,  then  to  Kells,  and  presently  he  rose,  a 
beaten,  but  game  man.  He  reached  for  the  whisky 

"  Fellers,  I  reckon  I  can  enjoy  Kells 's  yellow  streak 
more  when  I  ain't  playin',"  he  said. 

The  bandit  leader  eyed  Smith  with  awakening 
rancor,  as  if  a  persistent  hint  of  inevitable  weakness 
had  its  effect.  He  frowned,  and  the  radiance  left  his 
face  for  the  forbidding  cast. 

"Stand  around,  you  men,  and  see  some  real 
gambling,"  he  said. 

At  this  moment  in  the  contest  Kells  had  twice  as 
much  gold  as  Gulden,  there  being  a  huge  mound  of 
little  buckskin  sacks  in  front  of  him. 

They  began  staking  a  bag  at  a  time  and  cutting 
the  cards,  the  higher  card  winning.  Kells  won  the 
first  four  cuts.  How  strangely  that  radiance  re 
turned  to  his  face !  Then  he  lost  and  won,  and  won 
and  lost.  The  other  bandits  grouped  around,  only 
Jones  and  Braverman  now  manifesting  any  eager 
ness.  All  were  silent.  There  were  suspense,  strain, 
myster}^  in  the  air.  Gulden  began  to  win  consist 
ently  and  Kells  began  to  change.  It  was  a  sad 
and  strange  sight  to  see  this  strong  man's  nerve 
and  force  gradually  deteriorate  under  a  fickle  for 
tune.  The  time  came  when  half  the  amount  he  had 
collected  was  in  front  of  Gulden,  The  giant  wae- 

345 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

imperturbable.  He  might  have  been  a  huge  animal, 
or  destiny,  or  something  inhuman  that  knew  the  run 
of  luck  would  be  his.  As  he  had  taken  losses  so  he 
greeted  gains — with  absolute  indifference.  While 
Kells's  hands  shook  the  giant's  were  steady  and  slow 
and  sure.  It  must  have  been  hateful  to  Kells — 
this  faculty  of  Gulden's  to  meet  victory  indentically 
as  he  met  defeat.  The  test  of  a  great  gambler's 
nerve  was  not  in  sustaining  loss,  but  in  remaining 
cool  with  victory.  The  fact  grew  manifest  that 
Gulden  was  a  great  gambler  and  Kells  was  not. 
The  giant  had  no  emotion,  no  imagination.  And 
Kells  seemed  all  fire  and  whirling  hope  and  despair 
and  rage.  His  vanity  began  to  bleed  to  death. 
This  game  was  the  deciding  contest.  The  scornful 
and  exultant  looks  of  his  men  proved  how  that  game 
was  going.  Again  and  again  Kells's  unsteady  hand 
reached  for  one  of  the  whisky-bottles.  Once  with  a 
low  curse  he  threw  an  empty  bottle  through  the  door. 

"Hey,  boss,  ain't  it  about  time—  '  began  Jesse 
Smith.  But  whatever  he  had  intended  to  say,  he 
thought  better  of,  withholding  it.  Kells's  sudden 
look  and  movement  were  unmistakable. 

The  goddess  of  chance,  as  false  as  the  bandit's 
vanity,  played  with  him.  He  brightened  under  a 
streak  of  winning.  But  just  as  his  face  began  to 
lose  its  haggard  shade,  to  glow,  the  tide  again  turned 
against  him.  He  lost  and  lost,  and  with  each  bag 
of  gold-dust  went  something  of  his  spirit.  And 
when  he  was  reduced  to  his  original  share  he  indeed 
showed  that  yellow  streak  which  Jesse  Smith  had 
attributed  to  him.  The  bandit's  effort  to  pull  him 
self  together,  to  be  a  man  before  that  scornful  gang, 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

was  pitiful  and  futile.  He  might  have  been  mag 
nificent,  confronted  by  other  issues,  of  peril  or  cir 
cumstance,  but  here  he  was  craven.  He  was  a  man 
who  should  never  have  gambled. 

One  after  the  other,  in  quick  succession,  he  lost 
the  two  bags  of  gold,  his  original  share.  He  had 
lost  utterly.  Gulden  had  the  great  heap  of  dirty 
little  buckskin  sacks,  so  significant  of  the  hidden 
power  within. 

Joan  was  amazed  and  sick  at  sight  of  Kells  then, 
and  if  it  had  been  possible  she  would  have  with 
drawn  her  gaze.  But  she  was  chained  there.  The 
catastrophe  was  imminent. 

Kells  stared  down  at  the  gold.  His  jaw  worked 
convulsively.  He  had  the  eyes  of  a  trapped  wolf. 
Yet  he  seemed  not  wholly  to  comprehend  what  had 
happened  to  him. 

Gulden  rose,  slow,  heavy,  ponderous,  to  tower 
over  his  heap  of  gold.  Then  this  giant,  who  had 
never  shown  an  emotion,  suddenly,  terribly  blazed, 

"One  more  bet — a  cut  of  the  cards — my  whole 
stake  of  gold!"  he  boomed. 

The  bandits  took  a  stride  forward  as  one  man, 
then  stood  breathless. 

"One  bet!"  echoed  Kells,  aghast.  "Against 
what?" 

"Against  the  girl!" 

Joan  sank  against  the  wall,  a  piercing  torture  in 
her  breast.  She  clutched  the  logs  to  keep  from 
falling.  So  that  was  the  impending  horror.  She 
could  not  unrivet  her  eyes  from  the  paralyzed  Kells, 
yet  she  seemed  to  see  Jim  Cleve  leap  straight  up, 
and  then  stand,  equally  motionless,  with  Kells. 
24  347 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

"One  cut  of  the  cards — my  gold  against  the  girl!'* 
boomed  the  giant. 

Kells  made  a  movement  as  if  to  go  for  his  gun. 
But  it  failed.  His  hand  was  a  shaking  leaf. 

''You  always  bragged  on  your  nerve!"  went  on 
Gulden,  mercilessly.  "  You're  the  gambler  of  the 
border!  .  .  .  Come  on." 

Kells  stood  there,  his  doom  upon  him.  Plain  to 
all  was  his  torture,  his  weakness,  his  defeat.  It 
seemed  that  with  all  his  soul  he  combated  some 
thing,  only  to  fail. 

"One  cut — my  gold  against  your  girl!" 

The  gang  burst  into  one  concerted  taunt.  Like 
snarling,  bristling  wolves  they  craned  their  necks  at 
Kells. 

"No,  damn — you!  No!"  cried  Kells,  in  hoarse, 
broken  fury.  With  both  hands  before  him  he  seemed 
to  push  back  the  sight  of  that  gold,  of  Gulden,  of  the 
malignant  men,  of  a  horrible  temptation. 

"Reckon,  boss,  thet  yellow  streak  is  operatin'!" 
sang  out  Jesse  Smith. 

But  neither  gold,  nor  Gulden,  nor  men,  nor  taunts 
ruined  Kells  at  this  perhaps  most  critical  crisis  of 
his  life.  It  was  the  mad,  clutching,  terrible  op 
portunity  presented.  It  was  the  strange  and  terrible 
,  nature  of  the  wager.  What  vision  might  have 
flitted  through  the  gambler's  mind!  But  neither 
vision  of  loss  nor  gain  moved  him.  There,  licking  like 
a  flame  at  his  soul,  consuming  the  good  in  him  at  a 
blast,  overpowering  his  love,  was  the  strange  and 
magnificent  gamble.  He  could  not  resist  it. 

Speechless,  with  a  motion  of  his  hand,  he  signified 
his  willingness. 

348 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

"Blicky,  shuffle  the  cards,"  boomed  Gulden. 

Blicky  did  so  and  dropped  the  deck  with  a  slap 
in  the  middle  of  the  table. 

"Cut!"  called  Gulden. 

Kells's  shaking  hand  crept  toward  the  deck. 

Jim  Cleve  suddenly  appeared  to  regain  power  of 
speech  and  motion.  "Don't,  Kells,  don't!"  he  cried, 
piercingly,  as  he  leaped  forward. 

But  neither  Kells  nor  the  others  heard  him,  or  even 
saw  his  movement. 

Kells  cut  the  deck.  He  held  up  his  card.  It  was 
the  king  of  hearts.  What  a  transformation!  His 
face  might  have  been  that  of  a  corpse  suddenly  re 
vivified  with  glorious,  leaping  life. 

"Only  an  ace  can  beat  thet!"  muttered  Jesse 
Smith  into  the  silence. 

Gulden  reached  for  the  deck  as  if  he  knew  every 
card  left  was  an  ace.  His  cavernous  eyes  gloated 
over  Kells.  He  cut,  and  before  he  looked  himself  he 
let  Kells  see  the  card. 

"You  can't  beat  my  streak!"  he  boomed. 

Then  he  threw  the  card  upon  the  table.  It  was 
the  ace  of  spades. 

Kells  seemed  to  shrivel,  to  totter,  to  sink.  Jim 
Cleve  went  quickly  to  him,  held  to  him. 

"Kells,  go  say  good-by  to  your  girl!"  boomed 
Gulden.  "I'll  want  her  pretty  soon.  .  .  .  Come  on, 
you  Beady  and  Braverman.  Here's  your  chance  to 
get  even." 

Gulden  resumed  his  seat,  and  the  two  bandits 
invited  to  play  were  eager  to  comply,  while  the 
others  pressed  close  once  more. 

Jim  Cleve  led  the  dazed  Kells  toward  the  door  into 
349 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

Joan's  cabin.     For  Joan  just  then  all  seemed  to  be 
dark. 

When  she  recovered  she  was  lying  on  the  bed 
g,nd  Jim  was  bending  over  her.  He  looked  frantic 
with  grief  and  desperation  and  fear. 

"Jim!  Jim!"  she  moaned,  grasping  his  hands.  He 
helped  her  to  sit  up.  Then  she  saw  Kells  standing 
there.  He  looked  abject,  stupid,  drunk.  Yet  evi 
dently  he  had  begun  to  comprehend  the  meaning  of 
his  deed. 

"Kells,"  began  Cleve,  in  low,  hoarse  tones,  as  he 
stepped  forward  with  a  gun.  "I'm  going  to  kill 
you — and  Joan — and  myself!" 

Kells  stared  at  Cleve.  "Go  ahead.  Kill.  me. 
And  kill  the  girl,  too.  That  '11  be  better  for  her  now. 
But  why  kill  yourself?" 

"I  love  her.     She's  my  wife!" 

The  deadness  about  Kells  suddenly  changed. 
Joan  flung  herself  before  him. 

"Kells — listen,"  she  whispered  in  swift,  broken 
passion.  "Jim  Cleve  was — my  sweetheart — back  in 
Hoadley.  We  quarreled.  I  taunted  him.  I  said 
he  hadn't  nerve  enough — even  to  be  bad.  He  left 
me — bitterly  enraged.  Next  day  I  trailed  him.  I 
wanted  to  fetch  him  back.  .  .  .  You  remember — how 
you  met  me  with  Roberts — how  you  killed  Roberts  ? 
And  all  the  rest  ?  .  .  .  When  Jim  and  I  met  out  here — 
I  was  afraid  to  tell  you.  I  tried  to  influence  him.  I 
succeeded — till  we  got  to  Alder  Creek.  There  he 
went  wild.  I  married  him — hoping  to  steady  him. 
.  .  .  Then  the  day  of  the  lynching — we  were  separated 
from  you  in  the  crowd.  That  night  we  hid — and 
next  morning  took  the  stage.  Gulden  and  his  gang 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

held  up  the  stage.  They  thought  you  had  put  us 
there.  We  fooled  them,  but  we  had  to  come  on — 
here  to  Cabin  Gulch — hoping  to  tell  you — that  you'd 
let  us  go.  .  .  .  And  now — now — ' 

Joan  had  not  strength  to  go  on.  The  thought  of 
Gulden  made  her  faint. 

"It's  true,  Kells,"  added  Cleve,  passionately,  as  he 
faced  the  incredulous  bandit.  "I  swear  it.  Why, 
you  ought  to  see  now!" 

"My  God,  boy,  I  do  see!"  gasped  Kells.  That 
dark,  sodden  thickness  of  comprehension  and  feeling, 
indicative  of  the  hold  of  drink,  passed  away  swiftly. 
The  shock  had  sobered  him. 

Instantly  Joan  saw  it — saw  in  him  the  return  of 
the  other  and  better  Kells,  now  stricken  with  re 
morse.  She  slipped  to  her  knees  and  clasped  her 
arms  around  him.  He  tried  to  break  her  hold,  but 
she  held  on. 

"Get  up!"  he  ordered,  violently.  "Jim,  pull  her 
away!  .  .  .  Girl,  don't  do  that  in  front  of  me!  .  .  . 
I've  just  gambled  away — " 

"Her  life,  Kells,  only  that,  I  swear,"  cried  Cleve. 

"Kells,  listen,"  began  Joan,  pleadingly.  "You 
will  not  let  that — that  cannibal  have  me?" 

"No,  by  God!"  replied  Kells,  thickly.  "I  was 
drunk — crazy.  .  .  .  Forgive  me,  girl!  You  see — how 
did  I  know — what  was  coming?  ...  Oh,  the  whole 
thing  is  hellish!" 

"You  loved  me  once,"  whispered  Joan,  softly. 
"Do  you  love  me  still?  .  .  .  Kells,  can't  you  see? 
It's  not  too  late  to  save  my  life — and  your  soul!  .  .  . 
Can't  you  see?  You  have  been  bad.  But  if  you 
save  me  now — from  Gulden — save  me  for  this  boy 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

I've  almost  ruined — you — you  .  .  .  God  will  forgive 
you!  .  .  .  Take  us  away — go  with  us — and  never 
come  back  to  the  border." 

"Maybe  I  can  save  you,"  he  muttered,  as  if  to 
himself.  He  appeared  to  want  to  think,  but  to  be 
bothered  by  the  clinging  arms  around  him.  Joan 
felt  a  ripple  go  over  his  body  and  he  seemed  to 
heighten,  and  the  touch  of  his  hands  thrilled. 

Then,  white  and  appealing,  Cleve  added  his 
importunity. 

"Kells,  I  saved  your  life  once.  You  said  you'd 
remember  it  some  day.  Now — now!  .  .  .  For  God's 
sake  don't  make  me  shoot  her!" 

Joan  rose  from  her  knees,  but  she  still  clasped 
Kells.  She  seemed  to  feel  the  mounting  of  his 
spirit,  to  understand  how  in  this  moment  he  was 
rising  out  of  the  depths.  How  strangely  glad  she 
was  for  him! 

"Joan,  once  you  showed  me  what  the  love  of  a  good 
woman  really  was.  I've  never  been  the  same  since 
then.  I've  grown  better  in  one  way — worse  in  all 
the  others.  ...  I  let  down.  I  was  no  man  for  the 
border.  Always  that  haunted  me.  Believe  me, 
won't  you — despite  all?" 

Joan  felt  the  yearning  in  him  for  what  he  dared 
not  ask.  She  read  his  mind.  She  knew  he  meant, 
somehow,  to  atone  for  his  wrong. 

"I'll  show  you  again,"  she  whispered.  "I'll  tell 
you  more.  If  I'd  never  loved  Jim  Cleve — if  I'd 
met  you,  I'd  have  loved  you.  .  .  .  And,  bandit 
or  not,  I'd  have  gone  with  you  to  the  end  of  the 
world!" 

"Joan!"  The  name  was  almost  a  sob  of  joy  and 
352 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

pain.  Sight  of  his  face  then  blinded  Joan  with  her 
tears.  But  when  he  caught  her  to  him,  in  a  violence 
that  was  a  terrible  renunciation,  she  gave  her  em 
brace,  her  arms,  her  lips  without  the  vestige  of  a 
lie,  with  all  of  womanliness  and  sweetness  and  love 
and  passion.  He  let  her  go  and  turned  away,  and  in 
that  instant  Joan  had  a  final  divination  that  this 
strange  man  could  rise  once  to  heights  as  supreme 
as  the  depths  of  his  soul  were  dark.  She  dashed 
away  her  tears  and  wiped  the  dimness  from  her  eyes. 
Hope  resurged.  Something  strong  and  sweet  gave 
her  strength. 

When  Kells  wheeled  he  was  the  Kells  of  her  earlier 
experience — cool,  easy,  deadly,  with  the  smile  almost 
amiable,  and  the  strange,  pale  eyes.  Only  the  white 
radiance  of  him  was  different.  He  did  not  look  at 
her. 

"Jim,  will  you  do  exactly  what  I  tell  you?" 

"Yes,  I  promise,"  replied  Jim. 

"How  many  guns  have  you?" 

"Two." 

"Give  me  one  of  them." 

Cleve  held  out  the  gun  that  all  the  while  he  had 
kept  in  his  hand.  Kells  took  it  and  put  it  in  his 
pocket. 

"Pull  your  other  gun — be  ready,"  said  he,  swiftly. 
"But  don't  you  shoot  once  till  I  go  down!  .  .  .  Then 
do  your  best.  .  .  .  Save  the  last  bullet  for  Joan — in 
case—" 

"I  promise,"  replied  Cleve,  steadily. 

Then  Kells  drew  a  knife  from  a  sheath  at  his  belt. 
It  had  a  long,  bright  blade.  Joan  had  seen  him  use 
it  many  a  time  round  the  camp-fire.  He  slipped  the 

353 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

blade  up  his  sleeve,  retaining  the  haft  of  the  knife 
in  his  hand.  He  did  not  speak  another  word.  Nor 
did  he  glance  at  Joan  again.  She  had  felt  his  gaze 
while  she  had  embraced  him,  as  she  raised  her  lips. 
That  look  had  been  his  last.  Then  he  went  out. 
Jim  knelt  beside  the  door,  peering  between  post  and 
curtain. 

Joan  staggered  to  the  chink  between  the  logs.  She 
would  see  that  fight  if  it  froze  her  blood — the  very 
marrow  of  her  bones. 

The  gamblers  were  intent  upon  their  game.  Not 
a  dark  face  looked  up  as  Kells  sauntered  toward  the 
table.  Gulden  sat  with  his  back  to  the  door.  There 
was  a  shaft  of  sunlight  streaming  in,  and  Kells 
blocked  it,  sending  a  shadow  over  the  bent  heads 
of  the  gamesters.  How  significant  that  shadow— 
a  blackness  barring  gold!  Still  no  one  paid  any 
attention  to  Kells. 

He  stepped  closer.  Suddenly  he  leaped  into 
swift  and  terrible  violence.  Then  with  a  lunge  he 
drove  the  knife  into  Gulden's  burly  neck. 

Up  heaved  the  giant,  his  mighty  force  overturning 
table  and  benches  and  men.  An  awful  boom, 
strangely  distorted  and  split,  burst  from  him. 

Then  Kells  blocked  the  door  with  a  gun  in  each 
hand,  but  only  the  one  in  his  right  hand  spurted 
white  and  red.  Instantly  there  followed  a  mad 
scramble — hoarse  yells,  over  which  that  awful  roar 
of  Gulden's  predominated — and  the  bang  of  guns. 
Clouds  of  white  smoke  veiled  the  scene,  and  with 
every  shot  the  veil  grew  denser.  Red  flashes  burst 
from  the  ground  where  men  were  down,  and  from 
each  side  of  Kells.  His  form  seemed  less  instinct 

354 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

with  force;  it  had  shortened;  he  was  sagging.  But 
at  intervals  the  red  spurt  and  report  of  his  gun 
showed  he  was  fighting.  Then  a  volley  from  one 
side  made  him  stagger  against  the  door.  The  clear 
spang  of  a  Winchester  spoke  above  the  heavy  boom 
of  the  guns. 

Joan's  eyesight  recovered  from  its  blur  or  else 
the  haze  of  smoke  drifted,  for  she  saw  better. 
Gulden's  actions  fascinated  her,  horrified  her.  He 
had  evidently  gone  crazy.  He  groped  about  the 
room,  through  the  smoke,  to  and  fro  before  the 
fighting,  yelling  bandits,  grasping  with  huge  hands 
for  something.  His  sense  of  direction,  his  equilib 
rium,  had  become  affected.  His  awful  roar  still 
sounded  above  the  din,  but  it  was  weakening.  His 
giant's  strength  was  weakening.  His  legs  bent  and 
buckled  under  him.  All  at  once  he  whipped  out  his 
two  big  guns  and  began  to  fire  as  he  staggered — at 
random.  He  killed  the  wounded  Blicky.  In  the 
melee  he  ran  against  Jesse  Smith  and  thrust  both 
guns  at  him.  Jesse  saw  the  peril  and  with  a  shriek 
he  fired  point-blank  at  Gulden.  Then  as  Gulden 
pulled  triggers  both  men  fell.  But  Gulden  rose, 
bloody-browed,  bawling,  still  a  terrible  engine  of 
destruction.  He  seemed  to  glare  in  one  direction 
and  shoot  in  another.  He  pointed  the  guns  and 
apparently  pulled  the  triggers  long  after  the  shots 
had  all  been  fired. 

Kells  was  on  his  knees  now  with  only  one  gun. 
This  wavered  and  fell,  wavered  and  fell.  His  left 
arm  hung  broken.  But  his  face  flashed  white 
through  the  thin,  drifting  clouds  of  smoke. 

Besides  Gulden  the  bandit  Pike  was  the  only  one 
355 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

not  down,  and  he  was  hard  hit.  When  he  shot  his 
last  he  threw  the  gun  away,  and,  drawing  a  knife, 
he  made  at  Kells.  Kells  shot  once  more,  and  hit 
Pike,  but  did  not  stop  him.  Silence,  after  the  shots 
and  yells,  seemed  weird,  and  the  groping  giant,  trying 
to  follow  Pike,  resembled  a  huge  phantom.  With 
one  wrench  he  tore  off  a  leg  of  the  overturned 
table  and  brandished  that.  He  swayed  now,  and 
there  was  a  whistle  where  before  there  had  been 
a  roar. 

Pike  fell  over  the  body  of  Blicky  and  got  up 
again.  The  bandit  leader  staggered  to  his  feet, 
flung  the  useless  gun  in  Pike's  face,  and  closed  with 
him  in  weak  but  final  combat.  They  lurched  and 
careened  to  and  fro,  with  the  giant  Gulden  swaying 
after  them.  Thus  they  struggled  until  Pike  moved 
under  Gulden's  swinging  club.  The  impetus  of  the 
blow  carried  Gulden  off  his  balance.  Kells  seized 
the  haft  of  the  knife  still  protruding  from  the  giant's 
neck,  and  he  pulled  upon  it  with  all  his  might. 
Gulden  heaved  up  again,  and  the  movement  en 
abled  Kells  to  pull  out  the  knife.  A  bursting  gush  of 
blood,  thick  and  heavy,  went  flooding  before  the 
giant  as  he  fell. 

Kells  dropped  the  knife,  and,  tottering,  surveyed 
the  scene  before  him — the  gasping  Gulden,  and  all 
the  quiet  forms.  Then  he  made  a  few  halting  steps, 
and  dropped  near  the  door. 

Joan  tried  to  rush  out,  but  what  with  the  un 
steadiness  of  her  limbs  and  Jim  holding  her  as 
he  went  out,  too,  she  seemed  long  in  getting  to 
Kelis. 

356 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

She  knelt  beside  him,  lifted  his  head.  His  face 
was  white — his  eyes  were  open.  But  they  were  only 
the  windows  of  a  retreating  soul.  He  did  not  know 
her.  Consciousness  was  gone.  Then  swiftly  life 
fled. 


CHAPTER  XX 

steadied  Joan  in  her  saddle,  and  stood  a. 
moment  beside  her,  holding  her  hands.  The 
darkness  seemed  clearing  before  her  eyes  and  the 
sick  pain  within  her  seemed  numbing  out. 

"Brace  up!  Hang  to  your  saddle!"  Jim  was  say 
ing,  earnestly.  "Any  moment  some  of  the  other 
bandits  might  come.  .  .  .  You  lead  the  way.  I'll 
follow  and  drive  the  pack-horse." 

"But,  Jim,  I'll  never  be  able  to  find  the  back- 
trail,"  said  Joan. 

"I  think  you  will.  You'll  remember  every  yard 
of  the  trail  on  which  you  were  brought  in  here. 
You  won't  realize  that  till  you  see." 

Joan  started  and  did  not  look  back.  Cabin  Gulch 
was  like  a  place  in  a  dream.  It  was  a  relief  when 
she  rode  out  into  the  broad  valley.  The  grazing 
horses  lifted  their  heads  to  whistle.  Joan  saw  the 
clumps  of  bushes  and  the  flowers,  the  waving  grass, 
but  never  as  she  had  seen  them  before.  How 
strange  that  she  knew  exactly  which  way  to  turn, 
to  head,  to  cross !  She  trotted  her  horse  so  fast  that 
Jim  called  to  say  he  could  not  drive  a  pack-animal 
and  keep  to  her  gait.  Every  rod  of  the  trail  lessened 
a  burden.  Behind  was  something  hideous  and  in 
comprehensible  and  terrible;  before  beckoned  some- 

358 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

thing  beginning  to  seem  bright.  And  it  was  not 
the  ruddy,  calm  sunset,  flooding  the  hills  with  color. 
That  something  called  from  beyond  the  hills. 

She  led  straight  to  a  camp  site  she  remembered 
long  before  she  came  to  it;  and  'die  charred  logs  of 
the  fire,  the  rocks,  the  tree  under  which  she  had 
lain — all  brought  back  the  emotions  she  had  felt 
there.  She  grew  afraid  of  the  twilight,  and  when 
night  settled  down  there  were  phantoms  stalking 
in  the  shadows.  When  Cleve,  in  his  hurried  camp 
duties,  went  out  of  her  sight,  she  wanted  to  cry  out 
to  him,  but  had  not  the  voice;  and  when  he  was 
close  still  she  trembled  and  was  cold.  He  wrapped 
blankets  round  her  and  held  her  in  his  arms,  yet 
the  numb  chill  and  the  dark  clamp  of  mind  remained 
with  her.  Long  she  lay  awake.  The  stars  were 
pitiless.  When  she  shut  her  eyes  the  blackness 
seemed  unendurable.  She  slept,  to  wake  out  of 
nightmare,  and  she  dared  sleep  no  more.  At  last 
the  day  came. 

For  Joan  that  faint  trail  seemed  a  broad  road, 
blazoned  through  the  wild  canons  and  up  the  rocky 
fastness  and  through  the  thick  brakes.  She  led  on 
and  on  and  up  and  down,  never  at  fault,  with  familiar 
landmarks  near  and  far.  Cleve  hung  close  to  her, 
and  now  his  call  to  her  or  to  the  pack-horse  took  on 
a  keener  note.  Every  rough  and  wild  mile  behind 
them  meant  so  much.  They  did  not  halt  at  the 
noon  hour.  They  did  not  halt  at  the  next  camp  site, 
still  more  darkly  memorable  to  Joan.  And  sunset 
found  them  miles  farther  on,  down  on  the  divide, 
at  the  head  of  Lost  Canon. 

Here  Joan  ate  and  drank,  and  slept  the  deep  sleep 
359 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

of  exhaustion.  Sunrise  found  them  moving,  and 
through  the  winding,  wild  canon  they  made  fast 
travel.  Both  time  and  miles  passed  swiftly.  At 
noon  they  reached  the  little  open  cabin,  and  they 
dismounted  for  a  rest  and  a  drink  at  the  spring. 
Joan  did  not  speak  a  word  here.  That  she  could 
look  into  the  cabin  where  she  had  almost  killed  a 
bandit,  and  then,  through  silent,  lonely  weeks,  had 
nursed  him  back  to  life,  was  a  proof  that  the  long 
ride  and  distance  were  helping  her,  sloughing  away 
the  dark  deadlock  to  hope  and  brightness.  They 
left  the  place  exactly  as  they  had  found  it,  except 
that  Cleve  plucked  the  card  from  the  bark  of  the 
balsam-tree — Gulden's  ace-of-hearts  target  with  its 
bullet-holes. 

Then  they  rode  on,  out  of  that  canon,  over  the 
rocky  ridge,  down  into  another  canon,  on  and  on, 
past  an  old  camp-site,  along  a  babbling  brook  for 
miles,  and  so  at  last  out  into  the  foot-hills. 

Toward  noon  of  the  next  day,  when  approaching 
a  clump  of  low  trees  in  a  flat  valley,  Joan  pointed 
ahead. 

"Jim — it  was  in  there — where  Roberts  and  I 
camped — and— 

"You  ride  around.  I'll  catch  up  with  you,"  re 
plied  Cleve. 

She  made  a  wide  detour,  to  come  back  again  to 
her  own  trail,  so  different  here.  Presently  Cleve 
joined  her.  His  face  was  pale  and  sweaty,  and  he 
looked  sick.  They  rode  on  silently,  and  that  night 
they  camped  without  water  on  her  own  trail,  made 
months  before.  The  single  tracks  were  there, 

360 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

sharp  and  clear  in  the  earth,  as  if  imprinted  but  a 
day. 

Next  morning  Joan  found  that  as  the  wild  border 
lay  behind  her  so  did  the  dark  and  hateful  shadow 
of  gloom.  Only  the  pain  remained,  and  it  had 
softened.  She  could  think  now. 

Jim  Cleve  cheered  up.  Perhaps  it  was  her 
brightening  to  which  he  responded.  They  began 
to  talk  and  speech  liberated  feeling.  Miles  of  that 
back-trail  they  rode  side  by  side,  holding  hands, 
driving  the  pack-horse  ahead,  and  beginning  to  talk 
of  old  associations.  Again  it  was  sunset  when 
they  rode  down  the  hill  toward  the  little  village 
of  Hoadley.  Joan's  heart  was  full,  but  Jim  was 

gay- 

''Won't  I  have  it  on  your  old  fellows!"  he  teased. 
But  he  was  grim,  too. 

"Jim!     You— won't  tell— just  yet!"  she  faltered. 

"I'll  introduce  you  as  my  wife!  They'll  all  think 
we  eloped." 

"No.  They'll  say  I  ran  after  you!  .  .  .  Please, 
Jim!  Keep  it  secret  a  little.  It  '11  be  hard  for  me. 
Aunt  Jane  will  never  understand." 

"Well,  I'll  keep  it  secret  till  you  want  to  tell— 
for  two  things,"  he  said. 

"What?" 

"Meet  me  to-night  under  the  spruces  where  we 
had  that  quarrel.  Meet  just  like  we  did  then,  but 
differently.  Will  you?" 

"I'll  be— so  glad." 

"And  put  on  your  mask  now!  .  .  .  You  know, 
Joan,  sooner  or  later  your  story  will  be  on  every 
body's  tongue.  You'll  be  Dandy  Dale  as  long  as  you 

361 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

live  near  this  border.  Wear  the  mask,  just  for  fun. 
Imagine  your  aunt  Jane — and  everybody!" 

"Jim!  I'd  forgotten  how  I  look!"  exclaimed  Joan 
in  dismay.  "I  didn't  bring  your  long  coat.  Oh, 
I  can't  face  them  in  this  suit!" 

"You'll  have  to.  Besides,  you  look  great.  It's 
going  to  tickle  me — the  sensation  you  make.  Don't 
you  see,  they'll  never  recognize  you  till  you  take  the 
mask  off.  .  .  .  Please,  Joan." 

She  yielded,  and  donned  the  black  mask,  not  with 
out  a  twinge.  And  thus  they  rode  across  the  log 
bridge  over  the  creek  into  the  village.  The  few 
men  and  women  they  met  stared  in  wonder,  and, 
recognizing  Cleve,  they  grew  excited.  They  fol 
lowed,  and  others  joined  them. 

"Joan,  won't  it  be  strange  if  Uncle  Bill  really  is 
the  Overland  of  Alder  Creek?  We've  packed  out 
every  pound  of  Overland's  gold.  Oh!  I  hope — I 
believe  he's  your  uncle.  .  .  .  Wouldn't  it  be  great, 
Joan?" 

But  Joan  could  not  answer.  The  word  gold  was 
a  stab.  Besides,  she  saw  Aunt  Jane  and  two 
neighbors  standing  before  a  log  cabin,  beginning 
to  show  signs  of  interest  in  the  approaching  pro 
cession. 

Joan  fell  back  a  little,  trying  to  screen  herself  be 
hind  Jim.  Then  Jim  halted  with  a  cheery  salute. 

"For  the  land's  sake!"  ejaculated  a  sweet-faced, 
gray-haired  woman. 

"If  it  isn't  Jim  Cleve!"  cried  another. 

Jim  jumped  off  and  hugged  the  first  speaker.  She 
seemed  overjoyed  to  see  him  and  then  overcome. 
Her  face  began  to  work. 

362 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

"Jim!  We  always  hoped  you'd — you'd  fetch 
Joan  back!" 

"Sure!"  shouted  Jim,  who  had  no  heart  now  for 
even  an  instant's  deception.  "There  she  is!" 

"Who?  .  .  .  What?" 

Joan  slipped  out  of  her  saddle  and,  tearing  off 
the  mask,  she  leaped  forward  with  a  little  sob. 

"Auntie!  Auntie!  .  .  .  It's  Joan — alive — well!  .  .  . 
Oh,  so  glad  to  be  home!  .  .  .  Don't  look  at  my 
clothes — look  at  me!11 

Aunt  Jane  evidently  sustained  a  shock  of  recogni 
tion,  joy,  amaze,  consternation,  and  shame,  of  which 
all  were  subservient  to  the  joy.  She  cried  over 
Joan  and  murmured  over  her.  Then,  suddenly  alive 
to  the  curious  crowd,  she  put  Joan  from  her. 

"You — you  wild  thing!  You  desperado!  I  al 
ways  told  Bill  you'd  run  wild  some  day! .  .  .  March  in 
the  house  and  get  out  of  that  indecent  rig!" 

That  night  under  the  spruces,  with  the  starlight 
piercing  the  lacy  shadows,  Joan  waited  for  Jim 
Cleve.  It  was  one  of  the  white,  silent,  mountain 
nights.  The  brook  murmured  over  the  stones  and 
the  wind  rustled  the  branches. 

The  wonder  of  Joan's  home-coming  was  in  learn 
ing  that  Uncle  Bill  Hoadley  was  indeed  Overland, 
the  discoverer  of  Alder  Creek.  Years  and  years  of 
profitless  toil  had  at  last  been  rewarded  in  this 
rich  gold  strike. 

Joan  hated  to  think  of  gold.  She  had  wanted 
to  leave  the  gold  back  in  Cabin  Gulch,  and  she 
would  have  done  so  had  Jim  permitted  it.  And 
to  think  that  aH  that  gold  which  was  not  Jim 

363 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

Cleve's  belonged  to  her  uncle!  She  could  not 
believe  it. 

Fatal  and  terrible  forever  to  Joan  would  be  the 
significance  of  gold.  Did  any  woman  in  the  world 
or  any  man  know  the  meaning  of  gold  as  well  as  she 
knew  it  ?  How  strange  and  enlightening  and  terrible 
had  been  her  experience !  She  had  grown  now  not  to 
blame  any  man,  honest  miner  or  bloody  bandit. 
She  blamed  only  gold.  She  doubted  its  value.  She 
could  not  see  it  a  blessing.  She  absolutely  knew  its 
driving  power  to  change  the  souls  of  men.  Could 
she  ever  forget  that  vast  ant-hill  of  toiling  diggers 
and  washers,  blind  and  deaf  and  dumb  to  all  save 
gold? 

Always  limned  in  figures  of  fire  against  the  black 
memory  would  be  the  forms  of  those  wild  and 
violent  bandits!  Gulden,  the  monster,  the  gorilla, 
the  cannibal !  Horrible  as  was  the  memory  of  him, 
there  was  no  horror  in  thought  of  his  terrible  death ! 
That  seemed  to  be  the  one  memory  that  did  not 
hurt. 

But  Kells  was  indestructible — he  lived  in  her 
mind.  Safe  out  of  the  border  now  and  at  home,  she 
could  look  back  clearly.  Still  all  was  not  clear  and 
never  would  be.  She  saw  Kells  the  ruthless  bandit, 
the  organizer,  the  planner,  and  the  blood-spiller. 
He  ought  have  no  place  in  a  good  woman's  memory. 
Yet  he  had.  She  never  condoned  one  of  his  deeds  or 
even  his  intentions.  She  knew  her  intelligence  was 
not  broad  enough  to  grasp  the  vast  ness  of  his  guilt, 
She  believed  he  must  have  been  the  worst  and  most 
terrible  character  on  that  wild  border.  That  bor 
der  had  developed  him.  It  had  produced  the  time 

364 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

and  the  place  and  the  man.  And  therein  lay  the 
mystery.  For  over  against  this  bandit's  weakness 
and  evil  she  could  contrast  strength  and  nobility. 
She  alone  had  known  the  real  man  in  all  the  strange 
phases  of  his  nature,  and  the  darkness  of  his  crime 
faded  out  of  her  mind.  She  suffered  remorse — • 
almost  regret.  Yet  what  could  she  have  done? 
There  had  been  no  help  for  that  impossible  situation, 
as  there  was  now  no  help  for  her  in  a  right  and  just 
placing  of  Kells  among  men.  He  had  stolen  her— 
wantonly  murdering  for  the  sake  of  lonely,  fruitless 
hours  with  her;  he  had  loved  her — and  he  had 
changed;  he  had  gambled  away  her  soul  and  life — • 
a  last  and  terrible  proof  of  the  evil  power  of  gold; 
and  in  the  end  he  had  saved  her — he  had  gone  from 
her  white,  radiant,  cool,  with  his  strange,  pale  eyes 
and  his  amiable,  mocking  smile,  and  all  the  ruthless 
force  of  his  life  had  expended  itself  in-  one  last 
magnificent  stand.  If  only  he  had  known  her  at 
the  end — when  she  lifted  his  head!  But  no — there 
had  been  only  the  fading  light — the  strange,  weird 
look  of  a  retreating  soul,  already  alone  forever. 

A  rustling  of  leaves,  a  step  thrilled  Joan  out  of  her 
meditation. 

Suddenly  she  was  seized  from  behind,  and  Jim 
Cleve  showed  that  though  he  might  be  a  joyous  and 
grateful  lover,  he  certainly  would  never  be  an  actor. 
For  if  he  desired  to  live  over  again  that  fatal  meeting 
and  quarrel  which  had  sent  them  out  to  the  border, 
he  failed  utterly  in  his  part.  There  was  possession 
in  the  gentle  grasp  of  his  arms  and  bliss  in  the  trem 
bling  of  his  lips. 

365 


THE    BORDER    LEGION 

"Jim,  you  never  did  it  that  way!"  laughed  Joan. 
"If  you  had — do  you  think  I  could  ever  have  been 
furious?" 

Jim  in  turn  laughed  happily.  "Joan,  that's 
exactly  the  way  I  stole  upon  you  and  mauled  you!" 

"You  think  so?  Well,  I  happen  to  remember. 
Now  you  sit  here  and  make  believe  you  are  Joan. 
And  let  me  be  Jim  Cleve!  .  .  .  I'll  show  you!" 

Joan  stole  away  in  the  darkness,  and  noiselessly  as 
a  shadow  she  stole  back — to  enact  that  violent 
scene  as  it  lived  in  her  memory. 

Jim  was  breathless,  speechless,  choked. 

"That's  how  you  treated  me,"  she  said. 

"I — I  don't  believe  I  could  have — been  such  a — a 
bear!"  panted  Jim. 

' '  But  you  were.  And  consider — I've  not  half  your 
strength!" 

"Then  all  I  say  is — you  did  right  to  drive  me  off. 
.  .  .  Only  you  should  never  have  trailed  me  out  to 
the  border." 

"Ah!  .  .  .  But,  Jim,  in  my  fury  I  discovered  my 
love!" 


THE    END 


ZANE  GREY'S  NOVELS 

Hay  be  had  wherever  books  are  said.        Ask  for  Cresset  &  Bunlap's  list 
THE  LIGHT  OF  WESTERN  STARS 

A  New  York  society  girl  buys  a  ranch  which  becomes  the  center  of  frontier  war 
fare.  Her  loyal  superintendent  rescues  her  when  she  is  captured  by  bandits.  A 
surprising:  climax  brings  the  story  to  a  delightful  close. 

THE  RAINBOW  TRAIL 

The  story  of  a  young:  clergyman  who  becomes  a  wanderer  in  the  great  western 
uplands— until  at  last  love  and  fakh  awake. 

DESERT  GOLD 

The  story  describes  the  recent  uprising  along  the  border,  and  ends  with  the  finding: 
of  the  gold  which  two  prospectors  had  willed  to  the  girl  who  is  the  story's  heroine. 

RIDERS  OF  THE  PURPLE  SAGE 

A  picturesque  romance  of  Utah  of  some  forty  years  ago  when  Mormon  authority 
ruled.  The  prosecution  of  )ane  Withersteen  is  the  theme  of  the  story. 

THE  LAST  OF  THE  PLAINSMEN 

This  is  the  record  of  a  trip  whieh  the  author  took  with  Buffalo  Jones,  known  as  the 
preserver  of  the  American  bison,  across  the  Arizona  desert  and  of  a  hunt  m  Chat 
wonderful  country  of  deep  canons  and  giant  pines." 

THE  HERITAGE  OF  THE  DESERT 

A  lovely  girl,  who  has  been  reared  among:  Mormons,  learns  to  love  a  young  New 
Eng-lander.  The  Mormon  religion,  however,  demands  that  the  girl  _ shall  become 
the  second  wife  of  one  of  the  Mormons — Well,  that's  the  problem  of  this  great  story. 

THE  SHORT  STOP 

The  young  hero,  tiring  of  his  factory  grind,  starts  out  to  win  fame  and  fortune  as 
a  professional  ball  player.  His  hard  knocks  at  the  start  are  followed  by  such  success 
as  clean  sportsmanship,  courage  and  honesty  ought  to  win. 

BETTY  ZANE 

This  story  tells  of  the  bravery  and  heroism  of  Betty,  the  beautiful  young  sister  of 
old  Colonel  Zane,  one  of  the  bravest  pioneers, 

THE  LONE  STAR  RANGER 

After  killing  a  man  in  self  defense,  Buck  Duane  becomes  an  outlaw  along  the 
Texas  border.  In  a  camp  on  the  Mexican  side  of  the  river,  he  finds  a  young  girl  held 
prisoner,  and  in  attempting  to  rescue  her,  brings  down  upon  himself  the  wrath  of  her 
captors  and  henceforth  is  hunted  on  one  side  by  honest  men,  on  the  other  by  outlaws. 

THE  BORDER  LEGION 

Joan  Handle,  in  a  spirit  of  anger,  sent  Jim  Cleve  out  to  a  lawless  Western  mining 


when'joan,  disguised  as  an  outlaw,  observes  Jim,  in  the  tkroes  of  dissipation.  A  gold 
strike,  a  thrilling  robbery— gambling  and  gun  play  carry  you  along  breathlessly. 

THE   LAST  OF  THE  GREAT   SCOUTS, 


By  Helen  Cody  Wetmore  and  Zane  Grey 

t  .ife  story  of  Colonel  William  F.  Cody,  "  Buffalo  Bill."  as  told  by  his  sister  and 
Zane  Grey.  It  begins  with  his  boyhood  in  Iowa  and  his  first  encounter  with  an  In 
dian.  We  see  "Bill"  as  a  pony  express  rider,  then  near  Fort  Sumter  as  Chief  of 


The  life  story  of  Colonel  William  F.  Cody,  "  Buffalo  Bill."  as  told  by  his  ^ 
lane  Grey.  It  begins  with  his  boyhood  in  Iowa  and  his  first  encounter  wi 
lian.  We  see  "Bill"  as  a  pony  express  rider,  then  near  Fort  Sumter  a: 
he  Scouts,  and  later  engaged  in  the  most  dangerous  Indian  campaigns. 
Iso  a  very  interesting  account  of  the  travels  of  "The  Wild  West"  Show, 
xter  In  public  life  makes  a  stronger  appeal  to  the  imagination  of  Ame 
'  Buffalo  Bill,"  whose  daring  and  bravery  made  him  famous. 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP,         PUBLISHERS,         NEW  YORK 


JACK    LONDON'S    NOVELS 

May  be  had  wherever  books  are  sold.     Ask  for  Grosset  &  Dunlap's  list 

JOHN  BARLEYCORN.    Illustrated  by  H.  T.  Dunn. 

This  remarkable  book  is  a  record  of  the  author's  own  amazing 
experiences.  This  big,  brawny  world  rover,  who  has  been  ac 
quainted  with  alcohol  from  boyhood,  conies  out  boldly  against  John 
Barleycorn.  It  is  a  string  of  exciting  adventures,  yet  it  forcefully 
conveys  an  unforgetable  idea  and  makes  a  typical  Jack  London  book. 
THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  MOON.  Frontispiece  by  George  Harper. 

The  story  opens  in  the  city  slums  where  Billy  Roberts,  teamster 
and  ex -prize  fighter,  and  Saxon  Brown,  laundry  worker,  meet  and 
love  and  marry.  They  tramp  from  one  end  of  California  to  the 
other,  and  in  the  Valley  of  the  Moon  find  the  farm  paradise  that  is 
to  be  their  salvation. 
BURNING  DAYLIGHT.  Four  illustrations. 

The  story  of  an  adventurer  who  went  to  Alaska  and  teid  the 
foundations  of  his  fortune  before  the  gold  hunters  arrived.  Bringing 
his  fortunes  to  the  States  he  is  cheated  out  of  it  by  a  crowd  of  money 
kings,  and  recovers  it  only  at  the  muzzle  of  his  gun.  He  then  starts 
out  as  a  merciless  exploiter  on  his  own  account.  Finally  he  takes  to 
drinking  and  becomes  a  picture  of  degeneration.  About  this  time 
he  falls  in  love  with  his  stenographer  and  wins  her  heart  but  not 
her  hand  and  then— but  read  the  story  1 
A  SON  OF  THE  SUN.  Illustrated  by  A.  O.  Fischer  and  C.  W.  Ashley. 

David  Grief  was  once  a  light-haired,  blue-eyed  youth  who  came 
from  England  to  the  South  Seas  in  search  of  adventure.  Tanned 
like  a  native  and  as  lithe  as  a  tiger,  he  became  a  real  son  of  the  sun. 
The  life  appealed  to  him  and  he  remained  and  became  very  wealthy. 
THE  CALL  OF  THE  WILD.  Illustrations  by  Philip  R.  Goodwin  and 
Charles  Livingston  Bull.  Decorations  by  Charles  E.  Hooper. 

A  book  of  dog  adventures  as   exciting  as  any  man's  exploits 
could  be.     Here  is  excitement  to  stir  the  blood  and  here  is  pictur 
esque  color  to  transport  the  reader  to  primitive  scenes.f 
THE  SEA  WOLF.    Illustrated  by  W.  J.  Aylward. 

Told  by  a  man  whom  Fate  suddenly  swings  from  his  fastidious 
life  into  the  power  of  the  brutal  captain  of  a  sealing  schooner.    A 
novel  of  adventure  warmed  by  a  beautiful  love  episode  that  every 
reader  will  hail  with  delight. 
WHITE  FANG.    Illustrated  by  Charles  Livingston  Bull. 

"White  Fang"  is  part  dog,  part  wolf  and  all  brute,  living  in  the 
frozen  north ;  he  gradually  comes  under  the  spell  of  man's  com 
panionship,  and  surrenders  all  at  the  last  in  a  fight  with  a  bull  dog. 
Thereafter  he  is  man's  loving  slave.  ,_ 

GROSSET   &   DUNLAP,  PUBLISHERS,    NEW   YORK 


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